


Adversaries

by deathmarkedlove_archivist



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-29
Updated: 2007-01-29
Packaged: 2019-01-31 23:26:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 51,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12692358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathmarkedlove_archivist/pseuds/deathmarkedlove_archivist
Summary: Spike and Buffy are called to fulfill a prophesy. PG-13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Hils, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Death-Marked Love](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Death-Marked_Love). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Death-Marked Love collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/deathmarkedlove/profile).

The black-robed Senior Partner had been kneeling in the center of the pentagram for over an hour, but he did not allow himself to fret or question the passage of time. The ritual had been done to perfection, but Members of the Board came as they wished, and a wise man did not question or display impatience. And he would never have risen to his present position or lived to his present age had he not been wise.   
The smell of blood that overlay the room gave him a moment’s regret, but he consoled himself that the sacrifice had felt no pain, and he did have other grandchildren after all. He would make sure to send his daughter and son-in-law on a nice cruise to recuperate.

A deepening of the shadows and chill in the air heralded the appearance of one of the Members. Not the CEO, the Senior Partner noted, but He only appeared under highly special circumstances.

He prostrated himself, careful to stay well inside the protective inscription. There was no guaranteeing that it would work, of course, but tradition had to be maintained.

The voice was a cold scrabbling of claws in his mind. “The Souled Vampire turns from the light. It is pleasing to us.”

The Senior Partner raised his head sufficiently to speak, careful not to look at the Other. “We are honored at your pleasure. We live only to serve.”

“Yes.” A chittering sound swept through the room as if the air had suddenly filled with insects. The Senior Partner kept his eyes firmly on the floor, refusing to glance toward the altar.

“There is another matter that requires your attention.”

“Name it, and it shall be done.”

“The wheel has turned, and once again the Adversary had been drawn to the Slayer. They have allied once. It must not happen again.”

The Senior Partner considered. “Shall I have her destroyed?”

“Fool.” He went cold, flattening to the floor in anticipation of obliteration, protective symbol or not, but the voice went on after a moment. “A new Slayer would arise on the destruction of the old, and the Souled Vampire would ally permanently with the Light.”

Just as well. It would be easier to kill the Adversary anyway.

“No.” The voice almost sounded amused as he started in shock at the reading of his mind. “You will not harm the Adversary. You will give him that which he desires. He has been bound. You will free him.”

“It shall be done,” the Senior Partner stammered in relief as the Presence departed.

He came to his feet, wincing as his knees popped, and shrugged the robe away. Opening a recessed closet door, he used the mirror that hung in the cedar-lined closet to assist him in straightening his tie and smooth the creases from his Armani trousers.

He tugged a cell-phone from his pocket and punched a number.

“Housekeeping.”

“Send a team to the top floor.”

There wasn’t much to require their services. Only a tiny, picked-clean skeleton remained of the sacrifice. Even the blood had been taken. Still, they would know how to dispose of it properly.

The Senior Parter sighed a little and headed downstairs to his three-o’clock appointment.

  
\-----  
Groans and an unmistakably rhythmic banging interrupted his attempt to read.

Bloody cheap hotel rooms, Ethan Rayne thought irritably. He considered pounding on the wall, but he’d seen the size, not to mention the biker tattoos of the man who had entered. Direct confrontation wasn’t his style.

After a moment’s thought, he smiled and dug through his bag to retrieve some wax. He warmed it in his fingers until it was malleable, then swiftly molded it into the appropriate shape.

The smile widened to a grin as he flicked open a cigarette lighter and held the flame to the tip of his sculpture. About ten seconds later, the banging stopped and a man’s voice cried yelled, “Shit! Ow! Jeezus Chr-ist what did you do? My dick feels like its on fire!”

There was a loud bang as the hotel room door opened and the man staggered off to his truck. At last, relative peace reigned.

Ethan sighed. Petty revenge magic was almost all he performed these days. Certainly, he didn’t dare do anything that could generate some cash. Every mage and occultist in the US and British communities knew that he was on the personal shit list of Giles the Ripper, and for some reason, no one wanted to get on his bad side.

As if the little pansy was any sort of threat. He was too busy hovering over his Slayer, and not in any sort of interesting fashion. Leave it to Rupert to be surrounded by nubile, pretty females and not do anything about it.

He carefully didn’t consider the fact that he wasn’t particularly eager to tangle with Giles and the Slayer either. Instead, Ethan sighed, closed his eyes, and leaned back to consider his sorry lot. About the only thing he was doing to earn money anymore was generating horoscopes and running the occasional minor scam. It was shameful. And he knew whose fault it was too. Rupert. And especially Buffy, the snip of a Vampire Slayer. He would do a lot for the chance to take the war to the two of them.

A knock interrupted his self-pitying reverie. He looked up, frowning. Who knew he was here? It couldn’t be the cops already. He hadn’t done that much.

Carefully, he sidled up to the door, but instead of looking out of the viewer, he put his palm to the door and stretched out his mind. He recoiled almost instantly at the sense of utter coldness that met him. No, not the cops.

Ethan seriously considered diving out the back window, but he had a mage’s inherent curiosity, and whoever stood on the other side of the door might be his ticket out of this dump. Not to mention, that he was fairly sure they could track him.

He opened the door cautiously to see a middle-aged man in an extremely well-cut suit. The immediate impression was of gray. Gray hair, gray suit, gray eyes like ice.

“Ethan Rayne?”

As if you didn’t know. “Yes?”

The man smiled colorlessly. “I have a proposition for you.”

  
\-----  
I’m either dreaming, Buffy thought distantly as she walked through the closed door of her bedroom, or I’ve developed new powers since bedtime. My money’s on dreaming.

She looked left and right. To the left, lay Dawn’s and her mother’s closed bedroom doors and the dark, silent upstairs hall. The stairs were to the right, and she could see a flickering light from below. Buffy padded down to the living room, her bare feet making no sound on the carpet.

In the disconnected way of dreams, it didn’t seem strange to see Tara seated cross-legged on the couch, an old book open on her knees. It also seemed perfectly normal that she was using a large ball of witchlight for illumination.

“You and Willow must have some low power bills,” Buffy observed. Tara glanced up and smiled briefly, then returned to her book.

“What are you reading?”

“A very old story,” the witch said quietly.

“Is it good?” Buffy stepped forward and looked more closely at the book. One side was full of cramped writing. The other contained a picture of a woman who was fighting a half-man, half-animal creature.

She blinked, suddenly unsure. Were they fighting or embracing?

Tara shook her head and closed the book. “Parts of it are good, but it’s sad at the end.”

“If you know how it comes out, and it ends sucky, why read it?” Buffy shrugged. She had gotten about half-way through Black Beauty once, then thrown it across the room and refused to pick it up again. Life was too short to make yourself miserable if you didn’t absolutely have to.

“Maybe this time it will change.”

“Once a story’s written, isn’t that kind of…it?” Buffy asked.

“Usually. But not every time.” Tara gazed directly into the Slayer’s eyes. “It depends on the characters. And on who tries to edit.”

Buffy frowned. “I don’t know what you…”

“Buffy!”

She blinked and sat bolt upright, confused at the sudden transition from living room to bed.

“What…Dawn what is it?”

Her sister scowled at her around the door. “It’s time to wake up. Jeez, Mom called you three times already.”

“I was dreaming,” but the memory was fading already. Something about Tara and a book, but she couldn’t remember anymore.

“Well, dream about not acting like a dork, and get up!”

Buffy made a face and threw a pillow at the door, and in the midst of the familiar squabble, the remnants of the dream faded.

She felt tired and out of sorts as she dried her hair in front of the bathroom mirror. Patrolling had run late last night. It was the new Sunnydale High School’s first Homecoming game, and Buffy had felt obligated to keep an eye on the festivities. Good thing too. She’d dispatched five or six baddies of various sorts. Demons were drawn to all that hormonal good-will produced by roving bands of…children.

That’s the real problem, she thought glumly. The high school kids are only a year or two younger than me, and I felt like an old lady out there.

Buffy tried to remember what had happened at her own Homecoming games. Something involving saving the world, no doubt, but it was hard separate all those incidents. She knew she’d never got to watch an entire game.

She tried not to whine about being the Slayer, even to herself, but it was harder sometimes than others. Watching everybody laugh and drink and snuggle as she moved through the crowds like a ghost had driven her own isolation home.

Buffy had seen only one other person who didn’t have a date of some sort, and that was Spike, who’d been leaning in his usual boneless fashion against one of the lion statues in front of the library, watching the crowds with a brooding expression. Probably wishing like hell he could hunt one or more down for a snack.

Spike’s gaze had met hers, and she’d had an odd impulse to go over to him but had repressed it, contenting herself with a look that said stay away from the cheerleaders, even if you can’t bite. He had scowled and melted back into the night, and she had gone on her way, telling herself that she didn’t have time to trade barbs with a vampire. He would probably have had some unflattering comparisons to make between her and the younger girls.

She frowned at her reflection. It wasn’t like 20 was ancient or anything. No bags under the eyes, no wrinkles. She unwound the towel and looked at body. Everything was too still high and firm.

Realizing what she was doing, Buffy banged her head gently against the bathroom wall. Since when did Spike’s opinion, particularly about her looks, count for anything?

“He was screwing with your head,” she told her angry reflection. “That’s all. And you’re standing here letting him, which is so completely pathetic I don’t even want to get into it.”

She wrapped the towel back around her chest and crossed the hall to her room. He was only getting to her because Riley was gone.

Riley.

Buffy blinked hard. No crying allowed. I don’t need a boyfriend, remember? I have lots of people who care about me and that’s enough. More than the other Slayers had.

But she couldn’t help being lonely. Couldn’t help waking in the night and wishing someone was there holding her. Couldn’t help wondering why she drove them away.

  
\-----  
Spike twisted and turned, unable to find a comfortable position on top of the hard tomb. Harmony had left, taking all the bedding, the little bitch, and he hadn’t been able to scavenge much in the way of replacements. His coat for a pad and an old blanket he’d liberated from a thrift store was the best he could do at the moment.   
Slept a lot better in the old days, he thought angrily. In the very old days, Angelus and Darla had insisted on fancy accommodations. Darla in particular, had been addicted to views which required lots of heavy velvet curtains for daytime use.

Later, after Angel had made his unwanted appearance, Spike had become skilled at finding and furnishing lairs for himself and Dru. Of course, the fact that back then he could just kill the current owners and move in made it a lot easier.

Dru.

That was the real reason he couldn’t sleep. They’d had to lie rough a few times, but he’d always been able to rest with Drusilla in his arms. Now, he was alone.

Giving up on the attempt at sleeping, he swung into a sitting position on the coffin and leaned against the wall of the crypt, automatically fishing a cigarette out of his pocket.

This was all Buffy’s fault. She’d got into his head his first trip through SunnyHell, and he hadn’t been able to get her out again. Dru had known it, as she knew so many things, and she had left him.

Just as well, really, Spike told himself. Wouldn’t want her to see me like this. Weak. Can’t hunt. More crippled than when I was in that bloody wheelchair.

And that was the Slayer’s fault too. Her and her damned boyfriend.

His mouth twisted in a mirthless grin. At least that one was gone, off into the jungle, leaving the Slayer alone with her bruised little heart. Have a good time, mate. Hope something with a lot of teeth has you for tea.

“You’re the only one strong enough to protect them.” Well, that was something. She came to me when she had to, even though I saw how much it chafed her. She moved them back out fast enough after the godlet got herself sent back with a flea in her ear. Turns out the Council was good for something.

I want to Hunt. Last night had been especially hard. Homecoming at the high-school with jocks and cheerleaders abounding, enough for everybody with plenty left over to go back to school the next day.

He had watched from a distance, seen the bright eyes and red cheeks surging with the blood that flowed underneath the skin. Seen the Slayer stalking the edges of the crowds, eyes alert for danger, as much a predator as he was, although she’d never see it that way. She had noted him and graced him with her glare, but it had been reflex. Her eyes had passed on without interest, not seeing him as a threat.

One day, Slayer. One day, you’ll know different. You and your bloody friends.

None of the Scooby Gang had been with her last night. She was alone, the kids unconsciously drawing back to give Buffy her own little circle of space. For a moment, he’d thought of what it might be like to walk beside her, but then she’d seen him and given him that ‘You’re beneath me’ look.

So walk alone, Slayer, and then go home and sleep alone as well.

Spike relaxed a little more against the wall of the crypt at the thought of soldier-boy’s absence. No more teeth-grating, muscle-clenching frustration at the thought of Riley with Buffy. No more need, constrained only by the chip in his head, to rip the human off her, tear out his throat, and take his place in the bed.

Not that it would realistically have worked out that way. The Slayer would have had a stake through him before he got past the ripping-Riley-off-her part. Still, it was nice to think about. In fact, he was getting more than a little aroused by the fantasy, which would probably help him sleep after he got it taken care of, and…

Who the sodding hell was chanting?

Spike tried to move and realized that what he had thought of a pre-sleep lethargy was, in fact, a spell holding him in place, and fast draining his consciousness.

Oh, Bollocks, he thought vaguely, as the cigarette slid from his suddenly nerveless fingers.

  
\-----  
Spike woke slowly, with the strong sense something was wrong. The soft surface beneath him let him know immediately that he wasn’t in his crypt. What the hell…? Oh, yes. Chanting. Someone had knocked him out magically and then taken him somewhere. He seriously doubted that this was going to end up being a good thing.   
He slitted his eyes open cautiously and peered at what he could see of his surroundings. The room was dark, with floor and walls of black marble. The only light came from candles in black metal holders. He thought there was some kind of pattern etched in the floor but couldn’t see enough to be sure.

A man, robed in what looked like red silk, stood with his back to Spike, head bent as if he were looking down at something.

Oh, lovely. I’ve been kidnapped by some kinky pouf that thinks a vampire would make a fun boy toy. He tried to rise and realized that he couldn’t so much as twitch. Panicked, he looked down the length of his body but couldn’t see any physical restraints. Make that a kinky, powerful pouf. This just gets better and better.

The man turned, closing the book he had been reading, and Spike hastily shut his eyes, hoping he would leave, and give the vampire time to work out an escape plan. Instead, he heard steps circling whatever it was he was lying on, then felt a hand on the back of his head, parting his hair.

His mind mentioned nervously that with a captor powerful enough to restrain him magically, it might be smart to be quiet or at least polite. However, Spike was constitutionally unable to shut up, even when it was in his best interest.

“Watch it, you sodding perv!”

“Oh, good. You’re awake,” a British voice answered.

The man moved back into Spike’s vision. He was in his forties or so, with dark hair and an expression that tried to be urbane but was wrecked by the ferret-like gleam in his eyes.

“Yes, I’m awake, so keep your bloody hands to yourself!” He strained against whatever held him down, but to no avail. He might as well have been lying under a house.

The man seemed amused by the outburst. “You mistake my intentions. I assure you that your, um, virtue, is quite safe.” As if to prove his words, he stepped back from the captive vampire.

“What’s all this about, then?” Another possibility came to him, and he sighed. “A sacrifice, right? You want to call up the great, holy, what’s-its-name, and it needs a vampire slaughtered in some particularly messy fashion. Am I getting warm?”

This was just unfair. If he were, Xander, say, he could count of Buffy rescuing him, but as it was, Spike had a vivid image of having his entrails pulled out through his nose or some other equally nasty demise.

“Good heavens. You are the glass is half-empty sort, aren’t you? Wrong again, I’m afraid. Actually, I’m trying to do you a favor.”

“A favor,” Spike said flatly. “Yeah, right. I’ve got people lining up wanting to help me. Join the queue.”

The man had continued to move away from the table as they spoke and now stood in the pattern on the floor. “I can’t speak regarding your general popularity, however, it is true that I’m doing you a favor. Or don’t you want the chip out of your head?”

Despite himself, hope leaped in Spike for a moment. Getting the chip out of his head had been his ultimate goal ever since last Thanksgiving. Then, he laughed bitterly.

“I’ve heard that one before, mate. Let me guess how this goes. You’ll get the chip out of my head if I do you some little favor, which, coincidentally, will end up getting me almost killed. If I do happen to survive, there’ll be another little favor and another, until I’m either dead, or you’ve got what you want, after which, you’ll conveniently disappear. Am I warm?”

“Cold as a mackerel, I’m afraid. The chip’s already out.” He muttered something else under his breath, and the magical restraint on Spike suddenly vanished. He’d continued to strain against it, and the sudden freedom was enough to almost send him off the surface and onto the floor.

He gained his feet, realizing that he’d been lying on a padded table, and disbelieving, touched the back of his head. There was no pain, but a thin line ran across his scalp. No stitches. It was more as if the skin had been parted and then fused back together.

“It will finish healing in a day or so,” the man smiled. “No scar.”

“How?” Spike breathed.

He shrugged. “Magic.”

“Why?”

“I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I said the goodness of my heart.”

“I don’t suppose I would,” Spike snorted. “What’s in it for you? What do you want me to do for you?”

“Do?” The man shook his head. “My dear sir, I don’t want you to do anything. It’s entirely up to you.” He grinned. “Surely, there are things you want to do, things you’ve wished you could do but were prevented by your former circumstances.”

Spike knew he was being set up for something, but at the moment, he didn’t care. If the chip was out…oh, if the chip was out, there were some people who were going to be sorry they’d ever drawn breath. He suddenly, violently wished that Riley Finn was back in town.

Still, the proof was in the pudding as they said. He lunged at the man, vampire features snapping into place. He was brought up short, but not by the chip. Instead, he crashed into a barrier similar to that which protected human dwellings from his uninvited entry.

“Ah, ah, ah,” the man wiggled a finger at him. “Wards. You shouldn’t be so predictable. But don’t worry. I’m sure you can find someone else to prove I’m speaking the truth.”

Spike smiled. “I’m sure I can.”

  
End Part 1


	2. Chapter 2

“Thanks for helping me carry this stuff, Will. This was a bad time to suffer major car breakage.” 

“No problem.” She adjusted the box of books on her hip. “Are you going to be able to fix it?”

Xander nodded. “Yep. Got the part on order.”

“You can build stuff, you can fix stuff. You are just…the renaissance of stuff.”

“I’m betting that’s a good thing.”

Willow nodded and smiled at him fondly, glad that her friend had finally found his niche and glad that he had found someone to care about, especially now that she and Anya had made peace. The ex-demon still wouldn’t have been her first choice of girlfriend for Xander, but Willow accepted that she wouldn’t hurt him. She was still better than Cordelia, and much better than Faith.

They threaded the dark streets of Sunnydale in companionable silence, carrying the boxes of books that due to some kind of Post Office black magic, had ended up at Giles’ house instead of the Magic Box. Xander had planned to bring them in his car, but it had developed some sort of car-like symptom, so they were hoofing it. She would meet Tara there, a thought that brought the usual flare of happiness.

Now, if I could only do something about Buffy, Willow thought with an inward sigh. The Slayer was being extremely bright and chipper these days, throwing herself into college and training, never mentioning Riley, but Willow could tell that her friend was unhappy.

She had liked Riley. His apparent stability had seemed a good foil for the sometimes impulsive Slayer, but he couldn’t handle not being needed. Although Buffy did need him, she thought. She just needed him for other things than he wanted to be needed for. If that made any sense, which probably it didn’t.

He didn’t want her to always be strong around him, but he hadn’t realized that when Buffy was being…unstrong…she didn’t reach out, she ran off and hid. Or she hit something. You had to hang around until she crawled out of whatever cave she'd dug or be willing to drag her out yourself.

Willow’s thoughts were interrupted by Spike stepping out of an alley into their path. He stood in front of them, hands in pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

“Hey,” she said politely. Even though he was a vampire and had tried to kill her more than once, she'd always felt a little bad for Spike. It must be hard not to be allowed to be what you were, even if what you were was evil.

He was looking cheerier than usual. Ever since the chip, there had been an air of frustrated anger about the vampire. Tonight, the anger seemed to have been replaced by excitement or anticipation. His hard mouth wore an unfamiliar smile and the pale blue eyes gleamed.

“Evening, Willow. Xander. Lovely night for a stroll, isn’t it?” His smile broadened and a chill touched her spine. He can’t hurt anyone, she reminded herself nervously. Chip or not, she suddenly wanted very much to be elsewhere.

Xander didn’t seem to notice anything wrong. “Yes, pleasant weather we’ve been having,” he said sarcastically. “And how about those Yankees? These boxes are kind of heavy, Spike,” he added, “So unless you want to help carry, I think we’ll be moving on.”

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized, stepping to the side with a sweeping bow. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping you. But I wonder, could I have a moment of your valuable time to field-test a theory?”

“Come on, Xander,” Willow said in a voice that was almost steady. Fear was growing inside her, but she made herself meet Spike’s gaze. “We need to get to the Magic Box. They’re expecting us.”

“Are they now?” Spike said softly. “Don’t worry, Pet. This won’t take long.”

“What the hell are you doing, Spike?” Xander said angrily. Almost unconsciously, he moved so that he was between the vampire and Willow. “I don’t know what kind of game you’ve got going, but leave…”

Spike’s fist caught him between one word and the next.

“Xander!” Willow screamed as he flew through the air from the force of the blow to crash into a lamppost then slump unconscious to the ground. She could have run, but there was no way she was leaving her best friend to the vampire.

Maybe she could blind him, drive him away. “Fiat L…”

And then he was on her, vampire features replacing the human ones, one hand clamped over her mouth and the other arm locked around her waist as he drug her into the alley.

He shoved her up against the wall. “I don’t think so, little witch. Not tonight.” He leaned his body into hers, and she could feel his arousal pressing into her. One hand trapped her wrists behind her back, the other remained firm over her mouth. “The pouf wasn’t lying, so tonight’s my night to howl.”

I’m going to die, she thought dazedly. Wicca taught that death was nothing to fear, merely a transition from one plane to the next. Whoever wrote that probably didn’t have a vampire an inch from their throat.

Fangs grazed her neck and a horrible thought crossed her mind. Willow wailed behind his hand then tried desperately to speak.

Spike straightened. “Last request? Want to beg for your life? Never let it be said I wouldn’t oblige a lady.” He raised his hand a bare inch from her lips and smiled into her eyes. “Let’s hear it.”

“Please, Spike,” she whispered. “Just kill me. Don’t…don’t change me.” She felt the tears start rolling down her cheeks, but this was more important than pride. “I don’t want to kill anybody,” she choked. “I don’t want Buffy to have to kill me. And please don’t hurt Xander.”

They stared at each other for an endless moment. He didn’t move or loosen his grip, but a shudder ran through him, and it was suddenly Spike’s human face near hers.

He looked away from her, and she didn’t dare to speak or move or barely to breathe. Then, his head snapped back around, vampire features once more in place.

“Tell the Slayer I’m back,” he growled just before his fangs sank into her neck. There was pain for an instant as the flesh tore then, as he started to drink, something very like pleasure washed over her, making her arch against him despite herself.

Don’t drink, don’t drink, Willow told herself frantically. Just die. Tara, I love you.

Then Spike was gone, leaving her with a sore and bleeding neck and the sound of his footsteps echoing in her ears.

  
\-----  
And one, and two, and kick, and punch, and I’m tired of training, and three, and four, and when is this session going to be over? Ever since the Watcher Council’s attempt at an audit, Giles had been a bear about training, although fortunately, he’d given up the attempts at Japanese. Buffy had honestly thought he said ‘throw the axe’ rather than ‘roundhouse kick’, but his near decapitation had made him decide to continue their sessions in English.

Still, the extra training had the advantage of keeping her mind off things, so she didn’t really mind. If you were completely exhausted, Buffy found, you didn’t have time to snivel in your bed over your alarming lack of a personal life before you went to sleep.

She was preparing for another round on the hapless tackling dummy when she heard Tara scream “Willow!” She was out of the training room and into the store before the cry finished registering on her ears.

She looked around, but Willow wasn’t in sight. Tara was on her feet, staring wild-eyed straight ahead into nothing.

“Tara,” Buffy moved in front her. “What’s wrong? Where’s Willow?”

A shudder ran over the pale-haired witch. “I don’t know where she is. Something attacked her. She thought she was dying.”

She heard Giles’ breath suck in.

Oh, please, no. Not Willow. I can’t take it. “Is she dead?” Buffy managed.

“No. No, I don’t think so.”

“Xander was with her,” Anya said sharply. “Is he all right?”

Tara shook her head, shivering uncontrollably. “I don’t know. I just heard Willow tell me goodbye.”

“They were coming from my apartment. They should be somewhere between here and there,” Giles said in a voice that tried to be calm and failed miserably.

“I’ll find them.” Buffy caught up a stake and headed for the door, not even realizing that she was still barefoot from training.

The phone rang, and they all dived for it, Slayer ability putting Buffy ahead of the rest by a hair.

“Hello?”

“Buffy?” a tremulous voice came out of the phone.

“Will. Thank God.” She hit the speaker button, so Anya wouldn’t start trying to wrestle her for the phone. “Tara said something happened. Are you guys all right?”

“I think so. Xander might have a concussion. I’ve called an ambulance.”

A mixture of “Where are you?” and “What happened?” howled out of four voices at once.

“We’re in the Bronze.” Willow said, starting to sound calmer at the familiar Scooby dynamics. “Spike attacked us.”

“Spike?” Something shot through her on a level so deep that she hadn't known it existed until that moment. It felt like pain. Buffy found herself suddenly leaning on the counter. “How could he attack you? What about the chip?”

“It must not work anymore. He knocked Xander out. And he…bit… me.”

“He bit you?” I have to stop repeating everything she says, Buffy thought distantly. I sound like some kind of extremely gothic parrot.

“He said to tell you he was back. I have to go. The ambulance is here.”

“We’ll meet you at the hospital,” she managed and hung up.

Pain was replaced by rage. Spike was back, was he? And he'd issued a challenge to her, fired a warning shot. What next?

Fear left no room for rage, pain, or anything else. She caught up the phone again, stabbing at the speed dial.

“Buffy?” her Watcher asked worriedly.

“Giles, he’s been in my house,” she choked. “Spike has been in my house!”

“Hello?”

“Mom!” she almost screamed into the phone. “Are you and Dawn ok?”

“Yes,” Joyce sounded surprised, then alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

Her knees went weak with relief, but they weren’t safe yet. “Is Spike there?”

“No, I haven’t seen him. What’s going on?”

“He's attacking people again.”

“Are you sure?” Joyce asked. “He seemed pretty friendly the last time we saw him. I thought you were working together. You left us with him for protection.”

And I’ll never forgive myself for that. “Mom, he gave Xander a concussion, and he bit Willow.”

“Oh, dear Lord. Are they all right?”

“I think so. I’m on my way home. Keep Dawn with you. I’ll be there in a few.”

She hung up, shaking with relief and turned to see Giles with his car keys out and her shoes in his hand.

“Giles, will you take Tara and Anya to the hospital after you drop me off?” Buffy asked, thrusting her feet into her sneakers.

“Of course.”

Tara began to grab items off the shelves. “I’m going in with you.” She smiled faintly at the Slayer’s surprised expression. “Willow’s ok for now. I can reseal your house against Spike, so he can’t get back in.”

Overwhelmed at the gesture, Buffy hugged Tara speechlessly. “Then I’ll go with you while you do the rest of our places. Let’s go. But Giles, please go to the hospital. I need you to guard Willow and Xander.”

“Right.” He had slung a loaded crossbow at his waist. As Buffy watched, he belted on his trench-coat, concealing the weapon. Giles met her gaze, and although he smiled at her faintly, his eyes were those of the Ripper.

As they ran for the car, she said, “Just be careful not to shoot any of the hospital staff.”

  
\-----  
They sped through the night. Buffy stared out the window, willing the car to go faster, although she knew an encounter with the police would only delay them more.

Images whirled through her mind.

Fights to the death. Blows she had struck that he couldn’t return. Pieces of money fluttering to the ground.

“You think we’re dancing?”   
“It’s all we’ve ever done.”

“You’re beneath me.”

“What’s wrong? Can I help?”

“You’re the only one strong enough to protect them.”

What had she done? Had she forgotten what Spike was? What he was capable of? That he’d tried to kill her as soon as he thought the neurologist had removed his chip? That he’d almost driven her friends apart with a few well-chosen words?

Had she actually begun to trust him? Had some part of her started enjoying their banter? It was kind of sexy after all, wasn’t it? Playing with fire. Teasing death.

She had seen admiration in his eyes a few times. He had tried to kiss her, been interested in the fact that she was naked that night in her bedroom. Oh, she had turned him away in anger and disgust, but maybe there had been just a little vanity there, a little pleasure at his interest. Spike was right. They had been dancing.

Not any more.

“What?” Giles asked, and Buffy realized she had spoken the last words aloud.

“Nothing,” she said.

Giles tried to smile. “It will be all right, Buffy,” he said gently. “We can stop him.”

She nodded, glad that the darkness hid her burning face. At least he didn't know. He’d had a hard enough time accepting Angel. None of them must never know what she had been capable of. They thought she was a good person. Not someone who could be attracted, even for an instant, even on the basest level to a creature like Spike.

Had Riley known? Had he seen this darkness in her? Was that why he left?

Buffy's throat tightened, and she swallowed. There wasn't time for this. Whatever had happened down there in the depths of her soul was over. Later, after this was...done...she could worry and wonder about herself. For now, she had a job to do.

At last, they turned onto her street. Buffy was out of the car before it stopped moving and running for the house, Tara close behind with the satchel of spell components. Joyce opened the door and Buffy almost plowed over her.

“Everything ok?” she gasped. Joyce nodded and Buffy turned to give Giles a thumbs-up. He pulled away from the curb with Anya still riding in the back.

Dawn appeared in the doorway and hugged Buffy awkwardly. “Is Spike really evil again?”

Buffy swallowed. “He never stopped being evil. He just couldn’t really do anything with it for awhile.”

Tara had been talking softly to Joyce, explaining what she was going to do. At Buffy’s words, she gave the Slayer a thoughtful look but didn’t say anything as she bent to take items out of her bag.

“Oh,” Dawn said. She scrubbed at her eyes. “Are Xander and Willow all right?”

“Yes. They’re fine.” No thanks to me, Buffy added silently, as she stroked her sister’s hair.

“Good. You sure know some creepy people.”

Tara began the ritual, whispering the words of warding as she sealed each door and window with holy water and rowan bound with red thread. After the living room was finished, Joyce and Dawn remained there and Buffy accompanied Tara through the house, making sure Spike hadn't already gotten in and was lurking somewhere.

“This isn’t your fault,” Tara murmured when they were safely out of earshot.

“Isn’t it?” Buffy said grimly. “I should have killed him a long time ago.”

“You couldn’t. Not while he was defenseless. That’s not what you’re about. It’s more like what Faith would have done.”

“Spike was never defenseless. I kept forgetting that.”

“We all forgot.” Tara reached up gracefully, touching the tops and sides of Joyce’s bedroom window. “Sometimes, he almost seemed like one of us.”

“Well, he wasn’t.” Buffy watched her curiously. “Why aren’t you more upset? He could have killed Willow.”

“But he didn’t.” Tara shook her head. “He didn’t kill Xander either. Why not?”

Buffy shrugged. “It was a message. To scare us.”

“Maybe. But wouldn’t it have been more of a message to kill someone?”

"It doesn't matter," Buffy said with finality. "It really doesn't matter anymore."

  
End Part 2


	3. Chapter 3

Spike watched from his vantage point of a roof across the street, as Buffy sprinted from her Watcher’s car to the house, the witch Tara close behind her, carrying some sort of satchel.   
Right on schedule. He knew she would come here as soon as she learned what had happened to Willow and Xander, and he knew what she was afraid she’d find: bits of Mum and Little Sis scattered across the house, courtesy of yours truly.

Must not have taken time to change before running off to deal with Big Bad, he thought. The Slayer was clad only in a pair of old sweatpants and sport bra, and the vampire’s eyes moved hungrily over the bare skin of her midriff, the swell of her full breasts.

But the fear in her face was the most intoxicating sight of all. “Not quite so easy to ignore, now, am I?” he murmured. In fact, Spike had the feeling he’d moved to the top of the Slayer’s To Do list.

She vanished into her house as Giles drove away, and Spike, shielded by the roofline settled back to await developments. They weren’t long in coming. As he watched, a pale glow, intangible to human eyes, but one which he was very familiar with, formed around Buffy’s front door. A few moments later, the first of the living room windows began to glow as well.

“Resealing the house against me, eh? Clever little witch.” He held a mental bet on whether they’d remember the basement entrance, but the glow inexorably formed around it as well.

Don’t suppose I’ll be getting hot chocolate with marshmallows any time soon, Spike smiled.

It was a pity that he hadn’t gotten around to Joyce and Dawn, at least to the point of taking them hostage, before Buffy got there. However, he had been focusing all of his energies on not thinking about what had happened – or more accurately, what hadn’t happened – in the alley.

Certainly, he’d intended to kill Willow. She was one of the original Scoobies, Buffy’s best friend, and it made a nice bit of irony in that he’d discovered what the Initiative had done to him when he had tried to bite her before.

But pressed up against her in the alley, with her begging him not to make her a vampire, she hadn’t been a Happy Meal on legs, or a way to get back at the Slayer, or any of those things. She’d simply been Willow, who hadn’t let him stake himself in Xander’s basement, who studied witchcraft and loved Tara, and who had always been kind.

The knowledge had made him as impotent as he’d ever been with the chip. Spike had to mentally run through every insult he’d received in the last six months to summon the demon back long enough for the minor bite he’d given her.

Well, so what? There’s no rule that says I have to kill everything in sight, Spike thought irritably, casting away his cigarette. It’s been awhile, after all. I probably need to ease back in. He knew he was lying to himself even as he thought it. He simply hadn’t wanted to kill her.

Even if they weren’t resealing the house, he wasn’t terribly sure he could kill Joyce either. There just weren’t that many people willing to analyze the deeper meaning of soap operas to the level that she was. He…liked…Joyce.

“Do not,” Spike told himself firmly. “Humans are food that’s all. Cattle.”

Buffy’s porch light flipped on and the front door opened to allow Slayer and witch to emerge. She had taken time to change into jeans and sweater he noted with regret. But she was still beautiful, and still dangerous. He was quite sure there were stakes concealed in her sleeves and one in her belt if he wasn't mistaken.

“Be careful,” he heard Joyce say.

“I will. Stay inside.” “Right.”

The door shut firmly. Buffy stood a moment on the top of her steps, hooded eyes scanning the street.

The hair on the back of Spike’s neck stood up, and he went very still. Part of him wanted to finish it between them that instant, but she was alert now, focused and furious and ready for the fight. There would be a better time. At least, he told himself that was why he waited.

  
\-----  
From her place, they went to Xander’s parents, who were fortunately out of town. Buffy used an old house key she had to let them into the basement. She didn’t really think Spike would go for them, but there was no point in taking chances, and this way, he couldn’t use the house as a hideout.

After that house was sealed, they went to Giles’ apartment and from there to Willow and Tara’s place. As Tara began the ritual once more, Buffy could tell that the witch was tiring.

“We can rest a while if you want,” she said, forcing herself to curb her impatience.

Tara shook her head. “I’m fine. This is the last place we have to do. Spike was never in Xander and Anya’s apartment, and we can’t seal The Magic Box, it’s public. Besides,” she finished, “I want to go to the hospital and see Willow.”

“I really appreciate what you’re doing,” Buffy said softly.

“It isn’t anything,” Tara said. “You’ve done so much for me. Most people would have made me go back with my…my f-f-father.” She swallowed against the stutter that still tied her tongue when she spoke of her family. “I’m just glad I can do something to help you, now.”

Buffy looked away, embarrassed. She didn’t deserve the other girl’s loyalty or friendship. Tara’s lover had been endangered because the Slayer had failed her duty. I’ll make it up to her, she promised herself. I’ll make it up to them all.

At last, the witches’ apartment was finished, and they headed for the hospital.

With the addition of Buffy and Tara, there was quite a crowd in Xander’s room. Xander was lying on the bed, bandaged and pale but cheerful enough. Anya was beside him, one of his hands held tightly in hers. Willow was sitting in a chair against the wall, and Giles had a chair that had a clear line of sight to the door. His hand tightened on the crossbow across his lap as they entered, but relaxed as he recognized them.

Tara crossed immediately to Willow and knelt, brushing gentle fingers over the bandage on her lover’s neck. Willow flinched but smiled a little at Tara’s acceptance of the bite.

Buffy looked at her Watcher. “Aren’t the doctors getting upset over the crossbow?”

“Willow performed a spell of non-importance. Anyone who doesn’t know it’s here won’t notice it, and if they should happen to, they will think it’s something harmless.” He watched her steadily. “Did anything happen?”

She shook her head. “But all our places are sealed up tight. Sp…he can’t get in.”

Buffy went to Xander and hugged him awkwardly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He returned her hug without reservation. “I must have hit my head harder than I thought, because I was sure it was Spike who did this.”

“You know what I mean,” she said softly.

“Yeah, I do. And I know you’re up for a game of blame-the-Slayer, but I’m not playing. Any of them could have done it, Buff.” He said more gently. “I didn’t think Spike was a real problem either.”

“He is definitely a problem,” Giles said thoughtfully. “However, it would appear that he isn’t working alone. Willow, tell Buffy what happened in the alley.”

Obediently, the red-haired witch described what Spike had said to her.

Buffy frowned. “The ‘pouf’ wasn’t lying? So somebody told him they took the chip out or told him it wasn’t working?”

“Correct,” Giles nodded. “It also sounds as if Spike didn’t instigate the removal.”

“Someone did it on their own?” Buffy said slowly.

Tara shook her head. “Why would anyone do that? There are lots of vampires around.”

“They knew he would go for Buffy, first thing,” Xander offered.

“Vampires try to kill me all the time,” Buffy said. “Almost nightly. If someone’s gunning for me, why not call up something more powerful than a vampire? Or burn down the house, or something?”

“Maybe they aren’t trying to kill you,” Willow said.

“Then what?”

“If they don’t want to kill you, then they must want to kill Spike,” Anya said logically. “They knew you’d try to kill him if they got rid of the chip.” She glared at Buffy. “You are going to kill him, right?”

“Yeah, I’m going to kill him,” Buffy said firmly. “In fact, I’m going out right now. Giles,” she cut off her Watcher. “No matter what else is going on, the fact remains that Spike is able to attack again, and he is dangerous.”

“What if it’s a trap?”

“Then I’m going in with my eyes open. I’m the Slayer,” she finished. “This is my job.”

He drew breath to protest further, looked into Buffy’s face and didn’t bother. The only way to stop her now would be if he shot her with the crossbow, and even then, she’d still crawl off after her enemy.

  
\-----  
It was almost a relief to be away from the others Buffy realized as she descended the hospital steps. She loved them all, even Anya, but now, by herself, she could drop the tough can-do mask.

This hurt so much more than it should, more than she had ever thought possible. Like I told Dawn, Buffy thought. He was always evil. I was just starting to forget.

Spike had seemed to want to help sometimes. He’d looked out for Dawn, sometimes seemed sympathetic to Buffy herself. Had it all been an act?

Apparently. He must have been getting in good with the gang, biding his time until he was free. And to think she’d started to occasionally feel guilty about always being so hard on him. How stupid could one Slayer get?

Buffy took a deep breath, banishing the weakness. Fortunately, she knew what to do now. She rounded the hospital until she found a loading dock that had been abandoned for the night. She sat on the edge and closed her eyes.

I really hate doing this, she thought, even as reached down inside for the core of her power. Although she always had Slayer abilities, bringing up the essence of the Slayer was a little different. All that made her Buffy – that talked and walked and sneezed and shopped – had to pretty much get out of the way.

Well, fine. Buffy had screwed up. She could just take a time-out for now. Let the Slayer handle this.

The power washed over her, cool and calm. Her senses extended and her emotions stilled. Worry, guilt, and pain receded into the back of her mind, leaving nothing but the task to be performed.

Rising to her feet, she began to Hunt.

  
\-----  
Spike strolled through Sunnydale, rejoicing in his newly-reclaimed power. Let’s see, I could bite you, or you, or you…. The wino in the alley, the cops who gave him a suspicious look as they passed, the woman waiting for a bus, none of them knew that they only lived by his generosity.

Then, he realized that he was finding reasons not to attack. The wino probably had lice. Cops were an unnecessary hassle. The woman waiting for the bus looked…tired.

“Shit!” he swore as he realized what he was doing. “I have not turned into bloody damn Angel!”

Ok, no more excuses. The next person he saw was his. Determined, he headed into the park. A courting couple, perhaps. Two for the price of one.

A muffled cry caught Spike’s attention and he moved deeper into the park. He was rounding a clump of underbrush, when a hand reached out and grabbed his sleeve.

“Wait a second,” hissed a familiar voice. “You’re going to mess everything up.”

Harmony.

Spike’s fangs bared as he saw his old lover peering over the bushes. “Sleeping well?” he snarled softly, still angry over the loss of his bedding.

“Don’t be mad, Spikey,” she whispered. “Look what I found. You can play too.”

He followed her pointing finger. Two men, shoving a girl back and forth between them, their hands moving over her body as she stumbled and tried to get away. Even as he watched, one of them tired of the teasing and grabbed the front of her blouse, ripping the buttons open. She staggered into a patch of moonlight and Spike saw her more clearly. One of the high-school girls he’d seen the other night, maybe a year or so older than Dawn.

“Wait ‘til they’re busy,” Harmony giggled, “I’ll do the bite and you can feed. I’ll even let you have her.”

The girl was down on the ground by now, one of the men kneeling over her with one of his hands over her mouth and the other one undoing his belt. Spike could hear her muffled sobbing.

“Why wait?” he said lightly and sprang as Harmony yelped in indignation behind him.

He ripped the man off the girl in one easy motion. Then, pivoting, he slung his captive into Harmony.

”There you go, Harm,” he said genially as he turned on man number two.

“What the…” was all he got out before his eyes grew huge at the sight of the demon and Spike struck.

Hot living blood spurted into his mouth, and he fed off the man like someone dying of thirst who comes upon a mountain stream. Oh, God, the taste after so long was incredible, unimaginable.

Even through the ecstasy, he noted that Harmony was busy with her own captive and that the girl was staring at them in stunned horror, too scared to move. He snarled at her silently, then turned his back to finish feeding on the man, never looking up even when he heard her stumble away.

Long moments later, Harmony let the man she held fall to the ground. “Since when can you bite people again? And where’s the girl?” she added petulantly.

“Since now. And she got away, I guess,” Spike grinned at Harmony as his body reacted to the pleasure of feeding in a different way. He reached out and grabbed her long hair, used it to yank her up against him. “Besides, what do I want her for?”

Harmony laughed as Spike’s hands began to slide roughly over her, the human girl forgotten.

Later that night, he lay beside her in her lair, replete from feeding and sex, and happy to be sleeping in an actual bed again. Who the hell needed Slayers or other humans, anyway? He closed his eyes in supreme contentment…and opened them to sunlight.

Spike knew a moment’s panic, then realized that he was dreaming. It had been decades since he’d dreamed of the day, but now he stood on the bank of a river with the light dancing on the ripples and currants. He could feel the sun on his face, the breeze ruffling his hair, and a sense of someone behind him.

He spun, automatically sliding into a fighting crouch. The girl seated under a large oak tree took no notice of him, her gaze remaining bent on the stake she was sharpening.

Slayer, his instincts said, and a pitiful excuse for a Slayer at that, the rest of his mind added. She was small, scrawny really, in patched jeans, and a man’s old flannel shirt that swamped her upper body. Her brown hair looked as if it had been hacked off with the knife she was using on the stake.

“You’re no prize yourself,” she observed in a voice that twanged the vowels in an unfamiliar way, and looked up at him with eyes as green as the grass where she sat, huge in her pointy cat’s face.

He blinked in surprise and was back in the bed next to Harmony.

“Stay out of my sodding head,” he told whatever might be listening. “I’m not interested in dreams or prophecies or whatever, thank you very much.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought he heard a snort of laughter.

The Slayer started at the Bronze. She moved along the perimeter of the crowd, senses at full extension. There was no sign of Spike, but she notice two other vampires and one Chaos Demon, all of whom took one look at her face and decided to take their business elsewhere.

She considered pursuit. Leaving vampires alive had gotten her into this in the first place, but she couldn’t kill them all tonight.

She left the Bronze, moved through the warren of alleys that lay behind it. Nothing. No sign.

Next, she went to Willie’s. The Slayer hadn’t more than cleared the door when the entire place fell silent except for a subdued growl and the sound of patrons moving away from her.

The bartender met her in the center of the floor.

“No one’s making trouble here,” he said. “No humans are in danger. There’s nothing for you to Slay.”

I should Slay everything in this place and burn it to the ground, the Slayer thought distantly. Why has it been allowed to stand for so long?

The Buffy part of her reached out and seized control long enough for the Slayer to stop considering a rampage and focus back on her task.

“I’m looking for the vampire called Spike,” she said to the bartender. “Have you seen him?”

He shook his head warily, eyes on the stake that rested in her belt.

“Will you call me if you do see him?”

“What’s in it for us?” said a voice from the crowd.

The Slayer turned, her eyes unerringly locating the speaker. The demon flinched as he met her gaze.

“I won’t be nearly as interested in you as I normally would be,” she said flatly and turned away. Conversation resumed nervously as she left. The bartender shook his head. Just for a minute, he’d had visions of severed limbs being thrown everywhere, and the Slayer had been more frightening than any monster.

Nothing in the caves under the Initiative. Nothing in the old high school. Even the normal levels of demonic activity had shut down as if the occult population of Sunnydale had heard that the Slayer wasn’t kidding around and had decided to have a quiet night in.

She ended at the cemetery as the sun was coming up, not really expecting to find him there and not disappointed. His armchair and television were still there, but the jumble of weapons in the chest was gone. Naturally, Spike would have moved headquarters first thing. Perhaps if she’d come here first she could have caught him, but Buffy…but she had to make sure of her friend’s safety first.

Buffy drew a deep breath, feeling the Slayer retreat, leaving extreme weariness behind. She’d been up all this past night and most of the night before, but the roller-coaster of emotion tired her more than the loss of sleep.

She was standing behind the armchair, which still held the imprint of Spike’s body. With a sudden snarl of rage, Buffy yanked the stake from her belt and plunged it into the back of the chair, directly where his heart would have been if he had been sitting there. Then, she did it a few more times until the back and seat of the chair were shredded. Finally, she picked up the remnants of the frame and hurled them into the television.

“There,” she said, her voice loud in the silence of the crypt. “I feel better.”

Giles was waiting in his car as she exited the cemetery. “They released Xander, and I’ve taken everyone home,” he said, his eyes on her tired face. “I gather you didn’t find him.”

“No,” she shook her head. “I’ll keep looking though. He’ll have to hole up for the day.”

“You will do no such thing. You will get in this car, I will take you home, and you will go straight to bed.” She started to protest, but he held up his hand. “This is not negotiable, Buffy. You’re tired and not thinking straight. If you don’t rest, your fighting ability will be affected. Do you want Spike to defeat you?”

She crawled into the car with bad grace. “I hate it when you’re right.”

At home, she collapsed across her bed and closed her eyes, dropping instantly into a deep sleep.

And found herself in the Magic Box. Tara was seated at the table where they usually gathered, looking at a laptop computer. Buffy walked up behind her and looked over the witch’s shoulder.

She seemed to be playing some sort of game. Two glowing spots of color, one white and one red, circled a large black spot. The white spot shot beams of light at the black and seemed to be hurting it, but the black was shooting back and it was a lot stronger. It also kept shifting, staying between the white and red spots.

“Like I told you, it's a very old story,” Tara said. She pressed a button, and the game shut down. As Buffy watched, Tara’s fingers moved over the keys and a word appeared.

Spirit-killer.

  
End Part 3


	4. Chapter 4

Spirit-Killer. 

The word rattled around in the back of Buffy’s head as she sat in class that afternoon.

She had slept until noon, and was still tired, but knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep any longer. Also, she really needed to go to her afternoon classes.

Part of her – the Slayer part – thought she should be out hunting Spike. However, Buffy had calmed down somewhat from the driving panic of the night before and realized that she couldn’t spend her days going through every enclosed room in Sunnydale looking for the vampire. No, she would patrol as she normally did. He would find her.

Then they would see what happened.

Buffy was still unhappy over what Spike had done. It felt almost like a betrayal, which was ridiculous. Since when did he owe her anything? Thinking about the Spirit-Killer was a good distraction. It wasn’t like she was going to participate in her history class anymore. Her professor had made it quite clear that her comments were unwelcome.

She thankfully escaped when the bell rang and headed for the college library. She didn’t spend much time there, research being more in Willow’s line and Giles having a much bigger collection of Slayer-oriented material. Still, she’d never heard him use the term Spirit-Killer before.

Buffy battled with one of the catalog terminals for a few minutes and finally located the ‘search by key-word’ category. Almost holding her breath, she typed ‘spirit-killer’ and pressed Enter.

One entry came back: Flashing-eyed Athene: The Warrior-Heroine Archetype of North America

Great. I’m getting sleepy just reading the title. Dutifully, Buffy wrote down the card number and headed for the stacks.

Flashing-eyed Athene turned out to have distressingly small print, but at least it had an index. How does Giles get off on this kind of thing, Buffy wondered despairingly. He’d probably want to read the whole book. And take notes. And highlight stuff.

She flipped to the page on the Spirit-killer:

An obscure, yet interesting figure in the ranks of North American Warrior Heroines is found in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina.   
In 1932, Mathilda Sawyer was known as the ‘Spirit-Killer’. Oral tradition (c.f. ‘Folktales of the Blue Ridge. J47. p.103’) claims that the area was populated by various occult beings, including demons, ghosts and vampires. Mathilda functioned as nemesis of these beings and protector of the human inhabitants of the area. Those who claim to have known her say that she possessed super-human strength, speed, and endurance which she began to exhibit around age 16.

Before that time, she was repeatedly beaten by her father as were her five brothers and sisters. However, according to contemporary accounts, on her sixteenth birthday, Mathilda defended herself by bodily throwing her father out of the house and across the yard, a distance of some fifty feet.

“You go, girl,” Buffy muttered, interested despite herself.

For this action, her mother banished her from the house and she was shunned by the community.  
Typical.

  
At about this time, a strange (‘foreign’) woman appeared stating she was Mathilda’s teacher. See the ‘Fairy Godmother Archetype, p. 70’. They moved into a cabin in the area, and Mathilda began to battle denizens of the occult.  
Buffy turned the page and gasped. The black-and-white picture was old and grainy, but the personality of the girl who scowled at the camera came through loud and clear. She gently traced the ragged clothes, the badly cut hair. The caption at the bottom read ‘thought to be Mathilda (Mattie) Sawyer, Spirit-Killer’, but Buffy didn’t have to think, she knew. The girl was a Slayer. Her arms were crossed as she leaned against a large tree, and Buffy thought there was a stake in one of her hands.

I hope your Watcher was good to you, like Giles is to me, Buffy thought. I hope you had some friends.

Reluctantly, she tore her eyes from the picture to read the last of the story.

  
An interesting footnote of this story lies in the fact that one of Mathilda’s foes, generally thought to be a vampire, although accounts disagree on this matter, fell in love with her.   
The winter after she gained her powers was quite severe, and Mathilda and her teacher both fell ill with fever, the teacher subsequently dying. The townspeople refused to assist her, so the vampire bought her food and firewood. Some say he forced a doctor to tend her at her cabin. Mathilda, however, would not accept him, and both she and the vampire killed each other in a battle that same year.

She died within a year of her Call. Deeply disturbed, Buffy took the book to the copying machine, knowing Giles would want to see it.

So, why am I dreaming about this? I’m nothing like Mathilda. Nobody’s shunned or beaten me. Well, not my family anyway. I’m not sick, and neither is Giles.

There was one obvious possible similarity, but Buffy rejected it. Spike is not in love with me. He wouldn’t move so much as a scarred eyebrow to push me out of the way of a bus.

A small voice nagged that, actually, he had helped her in the past, but that was just a trick. He showed what he was by attacking Xander and Willow the first chance he got. Mathilda was probably right not to accept that other vampire. The dream was a warning about believing vampires could turn good.

She checked her watch. Just time to get the papers to The Magic Box and get out on patrol.

As Buffy cut through the park, she saw the yellow crime scene surrounding a small area of torn and bloodied grass and churned-up earth.

“What happened?” she asked one of the onlookers who always seemed to turn up at such places.

“Some high-school girl got attacked on her way home.”

“Is she ok?”

An old lady standing nearby spoke up. “They didn’t hurt her physically, but her mind was damaged, poor child.”

Buffy turned cold. Glory? Was Glory back? “What do you mean?”

The old lady pursed her lips. “She said two men tried to, you know, interfere with her, and a pair of monsters came out of the bushes and ate them.”

“Oh.” She walked away slowly, puzzled. There were good demons around. She’d met them. But eating people sounded like vampires. The only good vampire she knew of was Angel, but why would he be working with somebody? Besides, she would know if Angel was in the area.

Buffy shrugged. If they had rescued her, it must have been by accident.

  
\-----  
Spike stood at the doorway of his crypt surveying the remnants of his furniture.   
“Had a bit of a tantrum, did we, Slayer?” he muttered.

He crossed to what was left of the television and pulled the chair free, noting the large, stake-shaped holes in the back and seat. He had sent her a message, and it appeared that she had sent him one in return. A look of sadness flitted across his face and then vanished as he dropped the chair.

There’s nothing here for me anymore, he realized. Nothing in this crypt and nothing in this town. Remaining in the area had seemed like his bet of getting that chip removed, and now that had been accomplished, although he still wasn’t sure how or why.

As for making Buffy love him, he’d never had much of a chance at that to begin with and he’d bollixed up what chance there was when he attacked her friends. Oh, he could still fight her and maybe even win if he was having that one good day, but what would that gain him really beyond a seriously kick-ass reputation? He didn’t want her dead. He didn’t want her to kill him either, and if he remained in Sunnydale, one of those two outcomes seemed fairly inevitable.

I could go look up Dru, Spike thought with a slight lift of his heart, but that probably wouldn’t work out either. He had changed too much.

It had taken some time, until this evening in fact, but Spike finally admitted to himself that he had deliberately let the girl escape the night before. In fact, if Harmony had tried to feed from her, he would have stopped her.

The realization horrified him. He had scorned Angel for his angst-ridden ways and was now going him one better. He had changed without the excuse of the forced restoration of his soul. While living with the constraint of the chip, he had become too close to humans. In most cases, they were now more than food.

Although he was overjoyed that he could fight again and at least defend himself, Spike had a horrible feeling that his free-hunting days were over. Dru wouldn’t understand that.

Of course, I could always join up with Angel and his bunch, he thought, and his mouth twisted in a grin. Be pals with Wes and Cordelia. Nah. I’m not quite that sad. Not yet, anyway.

There was something to be said for going off on your own for awhile. He travels fastest who travels alone and all that bilge. Spike exited the crypt and caught up the pack that contained his weapons and extra jeans and t-shirts.

“So long, Sunnyhell,” he said jauntily as he headed into the night. Then, in a softer voice, “Goodbye, Buffy.”

  
\-----  
Giles sat behind the counter of the Magic Box, looking over the papers Buffy had brought him.   
He was still slightly stunned from the fact that she had voluntarily done research, although that really wasn’t fair. Buffy was intelligent, a fact that people tended to overlook when faced with her slang and her taste in attire. And despite her frequent and loud protests, he had learned that she was a conscientious Slayer.

He had also learned to pay attention to her dreams. If this Spirit-Killer was showing up in Buffy’s unconscious, then she was important.

Giles read carefully through the story and spent a long moment looking at the copy of the picture. So young, he thought with a pang. Just a child. He remembered Buffy at that age and shuddered. Mathilda had died the same year the picture was taken.

He smiled a little, looking at her expression in the picture. She had apparently been a bad-tempered, fierce child. I imagine her Watcher didn’t have an easy time of it, he thought. Still, he doubted there had ever been such a thing as a docile, mild-mannered Slayer. A young woman with the ability to stand against the forces of evil would, of necessity, be rather strong-willed.

He had studied the history of the other Slayers during his Watcher training, but when Giles attempted to recall what he knew of this one, he came up with a distressing blank. Her name, the location where she’d lived and done her Slaying, and her age at her death. She had been glossed over, of no importance. Certainly, he’d never known of the rumor that she had been loved and then killed by a vampire.

Curious, he checked his watch and calculated time differences. They should still be up.

“Travers.”

“Yes, hello. Rupert Giles here.”

“Giles.” The head of the Watcher’s Council didn’t sound overjoyed to hear from him. “Is there a problem?”

“Not really. In the course of some research, I ran across an unfamiliar term that I believe referred to one of the earlier Slayers. Does the phrase ‘Spirit-Killer’ mean anything to you.”

There was a pause that set Giles’ internal alarms.

“Oh, yes,” Travers said with elaborate offhandedness. “Quite. Mathilda Sawyer from back in the ’30s. She grew up in some horrid little backwoods hovel, and that was the name the yokels had for her. Her Watcher, Margaret Crichton, was going to take her somewhere civilized, but unfortunately the poor woman died of a fever. And then before we could get anyone else in there, the Slayer was dead as well.”

“How did she die?” Giles asked.

“Fighting some demon or other,” Travers said irritably. “How else do the Slayers die? What is this about, Giles?”

“It just came up in some old material,” Giles said, suddenly wary of telling Travers of Buffy’s dream. “There was a story that one of the vampires she fought fell in love with her, and that he was ultimately the one to kill her.”

“Poppycock!” Travers expostulated. “I don’t know how these ridiculous stories get started. Or, yes I do. Silly people getting romantic notions in their heads.”

Travers wouldn’t know a romantic notion if it grew fangs and bit him in the ass, said a voice in Giles’ mind that sounded remarkably like Buffy. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

“Even if there were some truth to it,” Travers went on, “It doesn’t mean anything. Young girls can be very foolish. All this creature –of-the-night business. Swirling cloaks and so on. Vampires, all demon-kind, are vile, disgusting creatures. That’s what Watchers are for, to nip this sort of thing in the bud.”

Giles thought the job of a Watcher was to help the Slayer stay alive and sane, but he didn’t comment.

After he hung up, Giles sat frowning, lost in thought. Travers was lying about something, by omission if nothing else, but at the moment, he couldn’t see why, and he didn’t have enough information to call him on it.

More important was why Buffy was dreaming of the Spirit-Killer now. An old story, the dream had said. One that was perhaps being repeated?

There had been something in Spike’s manner recently when he was around Buffy, a hesitancy combined with an abrasiveness that brought to Giles’ mind the actions of adolescent boys when they were around girls they fancied. If you couldn’t fascinate her with your witty repartee, you could always show her your chewed up food. Getting a reaction out of her, even if that reaction was disgust, was the goal.

For her part, Buffy had treated the vampire with disdain until recently when his help with Dawn and Glory had led her to declare a reluctant truce. Giles had been keeping a stern eye on the situation and had planned, if it escalated, to have a discussion with Spike, involving a stake if necessary. Part of him had actually been relieved at the news of his attack on Xander and Willow because it had served to separate him from Buffy. Angel had been one thing. Spike was something else entirely.

But Travers’ reaction was making him nervous and wonder what he was missing. There was no way the Council was going to give up their records without a fight, and he didn’t have the time to spare them now with the current crisis.

No, he would wait, and he would Watch, and he would do what he could to keep Buffy and the others safe. And if something more was needed later, well, he would do that too.

  
\-----  
One week later.

The Senior Partner quivered in the presence of the Board Member. “How have we displeased you, lord?” he asked. “Please tell me, that I may rectify the matter.”

“We are displeased with your handling of the Slayer and her Adversary,” the voice said coldly.

“He was freed, my lord, as you demanded,” the Senior Partner said. He had followed up with Rayne on that matter, himself. Some things you didn’t leave to chance.

“More is required. The Adversary withdrew rather than battle the Slayer.”

The Senior Partner very carefully did not think that it was somewhat unfair to assume he would know what the vampire would do. Fairness was not a matter of interest to Members of the Board.

“If he has left the Slayer, dark lord, then how should they ally?” he said soothingly.

“A link remains between them. The Adversary could return to her, and there is a slight chance she would accept him. You must sever that link in such a way that it may never be reforged.”

The Senior Partner bowed low. “It shall be done.”

“Yes.”

  
\-----  
It’s been a really quiet couple of weeks, Buffy thought as she scooped up the last of her cereal. No weirdness on patrol. No prophetic dreams. No extreme nasties showing up with world-domination plans. No newly un-chipped blond vampires with a grudge.   
I don’t like it. It’s too quiet. Cue the scary music.

Spike had been conspicuous by his absence. After that first night’s attack, he had apparently dropped off the face of the earth, or at least Sunnydale. None of the gang had reported problems or even sightings. She certainly hadn’t seen him. Maybe he’d gone off somewhere, reformed the Dynamic Duo of Spike and Drusilla.

Well, good. At least, he’s not my problem. The people he was undoubtedly killing worried her, but there wasn’t really anything she could do about it. There was no way she could comb the world hunting down Spike.

I don’t miss him or anything either, she told herself. That would be lame. And wrong. And stupid. ‘Cause he’s evil. And I’m the Slayer. Right. Good that’s cleared up.

“Gotta go.” Dawn slurped the last of her milk, dropped her dishes somewhere in the area of the sink, hugged Joyce and skidded out the front door.

And began to scream.

  
End Part 4


	5. Chapter 5

“Dawn!” Buffy raced out of the house, Joyce close behind. 

Her sister was standing at the end of the sidewalk, frozen, hands held out awkwardly from her sides.

Buffy reached her. “What’s the…oh. Oh, God.”

“Dear Lord,” Joyce gasped.

The girl couldn’t have been more than six. She appeared to be dressed in pink pajamas, but it was hard to be sure because she was ripped open from the base of her neck to her hips. Organs spilled out of the gaping would, but there was no blood to be seen.

“She was on her stomach,” Dawn said in an eerily calm voice. “I thought she tripped, so I went to help her. I turned her over, and she got on my hands. She got on my hands, shegotonmyhands….”

“We’ll go wash,” Joyce said firmly, maternal instinct snapping her out of her horror to focus on her youngest child. “We’ll go wash right now, and call the police.”

She turned Dawn away and led her to the house, leaving Buffy with the small body and the neighbors who were beginning to gather. The girl’s face hadn’t been disturbed. China-blue eyes stared sightlessly at the sky. One small arm was outstretched, the fingers pointing accusingly at Buffy.

She didn’t need to point. Buffy knew where the guilt lay. I didn’t wake up. This baby was killed right outside my house, and I didn’t even wake up. I have prophetic dreams all the time, and I didn’t see this coming.

Her legs suddenly refused to hold her, and she sank to her knees.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. But of course the little girl couldn’t forgive her. She was dead. Had died while the Slayer slept. Buffy wanted to pound her head into the sidewalk until the sight of the little body was driven out.

The sound of sirens made her blink, and she was able to finally turn her eyes away. The white cigarette butt was fresh and white against the grass. Moving like a sleepwalker, Buffy came to her feet again and walked over to where it lay.

“Don’t touch anything! That’s evidence” An officer was suddenly by her side.

She didn’t need to touch anything. Buffy had gotten close enough to see the butt clearly as she had seen so many others held in black-painted fingernails. Spike’s brand.

Searing guilt, pain and rage swamped Buffy, and she started to shake. All the times she could have killed Spike but had let him live ran through her brain, interspersed with the little girl’s face. Her fault, her fault. Oh, God, it was her fault this child was dead.

Vaguely, she heard the officer say something about asking her some questions. Buffy heard her voice answering him, but couldn’t have told anyone what she said. Her mind seemed trapped in a loop of horror.

The coolness of the Slayer washed over her and she sank into it with relief. Her mind reached an icy clarity that let her think again, let her give sensible answers to the police, and let her walk back inside her house so she could lose her breakfast in the toilet instead of out on the front lawn.

  
\-----  
Buffy was greeted by a very subdued gang at the Magic Box. She had called Giles, and he had reached everyone else, although most of them knew what had happened from the papers.

“Your’re sure it was Spike?” Tara asked softly.

“His cigarette was there. And it can’t just be coincidence that she was…butchered…in front of my house.”

“He never did anything like this before,” Willow said. “Not even before the chip. And he didn’t kill me or Xander that first night. Why now?”

Buffy shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe getting the chip out made him go crazy, but it just took awhile. Maybe he decided he hated me enough to not try and be careful anymore. Maybe it was the phase of the moon. I don’t know why he did it! He just did it!”

“Easy,” Giles said gently. “We’re all upset.”

“Sorry, Will,” Buffy said. The witch reached over and squeezed her hand. She took a deep breath, and slid into Slayer mode. “He’s challenging me. Calling me out. So, I’ll go out, and we’ll finish it.”

“Maybe we can help,” Willow said. “You know that demon-seeing spell?”

“The one I cast when I thought I was a demon,” Tara added sheepishly.

“Yeah.”

“We’ve tailored it to look for a specific demon. You basically do the demon-seeing spell and throw in a lot of stuff you know about the demon you want to find. I think we can use it to look for Spike since we both know him.”

She was burning with the need to be out tearing the town apart for the vampire, but if Willow’s idea worked, the search would be a lot shorter. Shorter was good. The quicker she dusted him, the better for everyone. If she could take him in daylight, so much the better. His escape routes would be limited.

“Can you do it now?”

Willow nodded and she Tara pushed away from the table. Giles flipped the sign on The Magic Box’s door to Closed to prevent interruption.

As the witches drew the protective circle and lit the candles, Buffy, Giles, and Xander moved out of the way to stand next to Anya who was watching interestedly from behind the counter.

Willow and Tara settled into the circle, and Willow took a street map of Sunnydale out of her pocket and spread it on the floor between them. Tara removed a pointed crystal from her neck and the witches joined hands so that both of them held the leather cord.

“We’re going to start by dowsing to get an idea of the general area where he is,” Willow explained. “Then we can narrow it down further.”

They both closed their eyes.

“Sisters of night  
Daughters of Hecate  
We petition and ask you  
To reveal where evil lairs."

The overhead light was still on, but it seemed darker in The Magic Box, shadows piling up in the corners. Buffy frowned, rubbing her suddenly chilly arms.

“Show us the demon,  
The vampire known as Spike.  
Once called William the Bloody,  
Sired by Drusilla.”

Buffy could feel power rising. The air crackled with ozone and the hair on her neck and arms standing up.

Anya had moved close to Xander and was staring anxiously around the room. “There’s something wrong,” the ex-demon stated flatly.

“Sisters of night,   
Daughters of Hecate…"

Buffy looked over at Giles, who had removed his glasses.

“I agree,” he said. “Willow, Tara, you should stop….”

The map burst into flame and the crystal exploded, the blast knocking both witches out of the circle and momentarily blinding the others. Books shot off the shelves, and papers whirled around the store. Cold laughter echoed from the walls and ceiling.

“Are you guys ok?” Buffy asked, kneeling next to Tara, as Xander and Anya bent over Willow.

“Our hands,” Tara whimpered.

Buffy looked and winced. Willow's and Tara's left hands were red and blistered, shards of crystal protruding from the injured flesh.

Giles said, “We need to get them to a hospital.”

“Wait a second!” Buffy demanded even as they helped the injured girls to their feet. “What happened? What did that?” “

A shield,” Anya said in her brisk way. “Seriously powerful. I couldn’t do one that strong when I had my full demon powers.” She nodded professionally at Buffy. “That’s some strong magic you’ve got there.”

“Spike never did any magic that I know of,” Buffy said slowly.

“We thought he might be working with someone else,” Giles reminded her. “And magic would have been one way to remove or neutralize the chip.”

Oh, great. I can fight Spike and a wizard.

“I’m really sorry you guys got hurt. But did you get any idea of where he was?”

Tara managed to smile. “No, I’m sorry. Don’t worry about us.”

“Giles, will you take them to the hospital?” Buffy checked her stake supply, and began to rummage through the weapons cabinet.

“Where are you going?” Giles asked.

”To find him the old-fashioned way.”

  
\-----  
In the end, Xander and Anya accompanied Buffy.

“I can’t do magic, but I can tell if it’s around,” the ex-demon explained. “If a building or something has wards, I’ll know.”

Xander refused to let them go without him, and volunteered to carry the gym bag full of extra weapons.

“Ok,” Buffy agreed. “But you stay out of any fights. I don’t want anybody else to get hurt.”

“Not a problem,” Anya said cheerfully.

They searched all the rest of the day, and into the night, pacing off a grid of Sunnydale. Deserted buildings, old warehouses, homes up for sale.

Buffy moved as one possessed, part of her inwardly snarling at the necessarily slower pace of the others. Xander and Anya tried to keep up, and Anya even refrained from complaining about her feet, but they simply weren’t able to move as swiftly as the Slayer.

Xander finally called a halt. “We need to eat,” he said firmly. “And take a break.”

“It’s night!” Buffy said angrily. “He could be out there killing some other little kid.”

“Yeah, and if we find him when we don’t have any energy we won’t be able to stop him.”

She fumed but knew she was right. Her stomach growled with hunger, her feet made their aching known…and the little girl suddenly seemed to stand before her, pointing an accusing hand. Her gorge rose. “You go,” she said. “We can meet up later.”

Xander put a hand on her shoulder. “Buff, I know you feel like it’s your fault...” Then, he frowned, moved his hand to her forehead. “Are you sick? You feel hot.”

Buffy twisted away. There was no time for this. “I’m fine,” she said levelly. “You go home, call it a night. I’ll see you later.”

“Buffy!”

But she was gone, running with preternatural speed into the shadows.

“What is going on with her?” Xander muttered.

Anya shook her head. “There’s magic all around her. Her aura’s weird.”

“Is someone attacking her? Why didn’t you say something?”

“No one’s attacking her. She’s doing it herself.”

Free of the others, she moved through the night.

Every time she thought about stopping, the girl’s face peered at her out of the shadows, driving her on. Stop it, she thought at the image. I’m doing the best I can. I’m trying to find him.

But despite her best efforts, Buffy found nothing either that night or the next four. There was no sign that a homicidal vampire or mage roamed Sunnydale.

Except for the appearance of two more gutted bodies.

The first was a boy Buffy vaguely remembered seeing around campus although they had never spoken. He’d just been there, studying in the library or hunched over a Bunsen burner in Chem. Lab. He was left in front of the building where her English class was held.

The second, a young mother of two, was left in the cemetery. Buffy found her, and after a long moment of horrified staring, Buffy left her there for someone else to discover.

I can’t be linked to them, she thought distantly around the iron fist that seemed wrapped around her mind. If I’m in jail, I can’t stop this.

Although she should be in jail because it was her fault this was happening. She had left Spike alive, and so was ultimately responsible for the deaths of these people. I can’t think about that now, Buffy told herself, and retreated into her power.

She spent most of her time there these days. It was easier. Buffy wanted to curl into a ball and cry. The Slayer could get out on the streets and hunt. Buffy couldn’t sleep because every time she closed her eyes, the faces of the dead, particularly the little girl, crowded behind her eyelids and sent her screaming awake. The Slayer didn’t need to sleep. She didn’t need to eat much either, which was good, because food was making Buffy sick.

After she found the woman in the cemetery, Buffy went back to Willie’s. The bartender met her at the door.

“He isn’t here. I’d give him up if he was.”

“Yeah, right. Sure you would.”

She pushed past him into the bar. It was mobbed. Practically the entire occult population of Sunnydale was crowded inside. They all fell silent as she entered.

“It’s true. Any of us would,” he gestured around the bar. There were general nods of agreement.

“Why?”

“Spike’s endangering everybody,” said a male vampire. He was in full vamp face, but kept his hands spread on the bar where she could see them. “We survive because most humans don’t believe in us. All we need’s a bunch of Van Helsing wannabees.”

“Besides,” another demon added. “He’s pissing you off. You usually leave us alone unless you catch us in the act. Right now, you’ve got that ‘Slay ‘em all and let the Powers that Be sort them out' look".

  
\-----  
It was very late. Buffy paused and leaned against the side of a building, lightheaded for a moment despite the Slayer energy. However, when someone stepped out of the alley behind her, she whirled instantly, stake high.   
Anya stood there, a large purse slung over her shoulder.

“Careful with that,” she said calmly.

“What are you doing sneaking up behind me. Are you crazy? Why are you out here? Where’s Xander?”

“Xander’s asleep, and he’ll stay that way awhile.” Anya didn’t elaborate and Buffy decided she really didn’t want to know.

“How did you find me? Why did you find me?”

“You’re so deep into Slayer mode, you’re generating magic energy. I could feel it. And nobody’s seen you for days. They were worried.”

“I’ve checked in,” Buffy muttered. “The best thing I can do for them is catch Spike and this wizard.” She paused. “No one’s been trying to use magic again have they?”

“Willow and Tara haven’t, but Giles’ eyebrows are singed off and he’s being very evasive about why.”

“Damn it!” Buffy pounded her fist into her thigh. “I told them not to try anything else.”

“Yeah, well, they didn’t listen to you. Have you eaten? At any point in the recent past?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Oh, yes, you are.” With that, she withdrew a sandwich and a bottle of water from her bag.

Buffy’s body abruptly took over and made its desires known with a huge growl from her stomach. Visions of the dead children aside, she was starving.

She inhaled the sandwich in about three bites and chugged the water. Exhausted, she leaned against the wall of the alley and slid down to rest on her heels.

“Thanks,” she said tiredly. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

“You need to watch it,” Anya said critically. “The Buffy part of you needs stuff the Slayer doesn’t. You’ll burn out if you’re not careful.”

“How come you know so much about it?” Buffy asked tiredly.

“Hello. I was a demon for a few hundred years. I’ve been around the neighborhood.”

Despite herself, Buffy smiled. “Block, Anya. You’ve been around the block.”

“Whatever. The point is…” She broke off in the middle of whatever point it was, and her head came up sharply.

“What?” Buffy whispered.

“Magic’s being done nearby. Very strong.”

“Show me.”

They silently stood, and Anya led Buffy through the alley. At the mouth of the alley, she paused, eyes closed, then turned to the right and ran swiftly down the block, Buffy pacing her.

Two more streets took them back into a residential area. At least it’s not at my house this time, Buffy thought.

Anya stopped a few feet away from an intersection, shielded by a hedge that surrounded the corner house. “Around there,” she whispered. “Farther up the street.”

“Ok. You stay back.”

Anya nodded vigorously.

Every fiber of her being told her to race around the corner and attack whatever was there, but Buffy suppressed it ruthlessly, easing behind the hedge and across the yard. She would not screw up what might be her only opportunity by moving too fast. Please, let this be it. Please let me finish it tonight.

The owners of this house liked their privacy, which was fine with her. The hedge grew across the front yard as well, giving her plenty of cover. She crouched, hoping they didn’t have a huge dog for additional privacy enforcement, and peered through the hedge, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness, searching the shadows between the streetlamps.

There. A hint of movement. Across the street and two houses up, something flew out of the shadows to land in the street.

A head. The streetlight lit it like a stage play. An old woman’s head, gray hair streaming out behind. A figure strolled to the edge of the yard, still hidden by shadow except for the glint of moonlight on platinum hair.

“Shit!” Buffy swore and cleared the hedge in a jump. She landed running, headed straight at him, stake ready in her hand. No banter, no explanation, no talking. One thrust to the heart, and that would be all. And she would put the stake to her own heart if she ever again caught herself having any thought about a vampire other than the best way to kill it.

“Look out!” Anya called. “It’s a trap.”

Buffy tried to backpedal, but she was already caught, unable to move, held as securely as a fly in amber. Inexplicably, Spike stepped farther back into the shadows, then, there was a flash of light, and he vanished.

She caught movement out of the corner of her eye as someone crossed the street. Buffy swiveled her vision as hard as she could but couldn’t see who it was.

“Good evening, Buffy.”

Her heart lurched at the familiar sneering British tone. “Ethan Rayne.”

She could speak at least. That was something. Not much, though. If she screamed for help, other people would come out here and that would be bad. She wouldn’t be able to protect them. Still, she spoke as loudly as she dared, hoping Anya could hear her. She could warn the others if Buffy didn't walk away from this.

“Very good.” He moved behind her, one hand trailing across her shoulder blades, making her skin crawl. “I hardly hoped you would remember me.”

“Well, you are pretty forgettable. You can’t even do your own stunts. Have to get some vamp-for-hire to do the icky stuff while you get your rocks off.”

“Now, now.” One hand wrapped around her hair, yanked hard enough to make her eyes sting. “You’re not really in any position to exercise what passes for your wit.”

He moved in front of her and smiled at her angry expression. He wore expensive-looking slacks and a dark turtleneck, covered by a leather blazer.

“You moved up in the world,” Buffy gritted. “Find a nice sugar-daddy? Or does killing kids and old ladies pay really well?”

He continued to smile, but his eyes were icy. “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for you, Slayer. You’re not looking too well. You’ve lost weight. But enough pleasantries. Call your friend over.”

“I don't think so.”

One of his hands clenched in the pocket of his blazer, and whatever was holding her tightened, making it hard to breathe. “Call her.”

“Screw you,” she gasped through starving lungs.

“An intriguing notion, but not this time. Very well, if you’re going to be stubborn. Young lady!” he called. “Come over here before I crush your friend’s chest and explode her heart.”

“Stay back, Anya,” Buffy choked. Rayne’s hand tightened again, and her vision began to gray. Hesitant footsteps moved toward them. Oh, God, he’ll kill both of us, and no one will know what’s happening.

No. I am the Slayer. I will not die this way.

She went into herself deeper then she ever had before, wrenching at the white hot center of her being, and the power surged up in response. Her entire body felt as if it were on fire. Hunger, grief, and weariness faded. Buffy still couldn’t breathe, but breathing was suddenly irrelevant.

Slowly, inexorably, she began to wrench free of the trap. Rayne’s face went slack-jawed in surprise, and he sprang back as one arm came free, and she lashed at him with the stake.

“Did you want to say hello to Giles?” Anya said conversationally as she held up a cell-phone that was growling alarmingly in a British accent. “He was really interested to know you were here, and he’s heading right over. Oh, and I think she’ll be loose in a minute,” she added with a glance at the struggling Slayer.

That was enough for Ethan. He backed away, muttering under his breath and gesturing hastily, and was gone in a flash like the one that had taken Spike.

Whatever had held Buffy imprisoned vanished as well, the Slayer trance broke, and she collapsed in the street.

  
End Part 5


	6. Chapter 6

Giles took the corner on two wheels. The street was empty, except, of course, for the head lying in the pool of lamplight, but he couldn’t worry about that at the moment.   
Then, he saw the huddled figures, Buffy lying on the sidewalk with her head in Anya’s lap, and his heart tried to stop. No, God, please no. Surely, I would know if she were dead. A Watcher knows if their Slayer dies.

Somehow, he got the car pulled over beside to the two girls and got out. Anya smiled at him shakily, but Buffy never moved. Kneeling, he placed trembling fingers on the pulse at her neck and almost collapsed himself from relief at feeling the steady beat of her heart

“I told you she was just unconscious,” Anya reminded him.

“Yes, quite. However, I wasn’t expecting her to look quite this unconscious.”

Buffy frowned and shifted, batting his hand away, and Giles smiled a little, reluctantly. “I think she’s just asleep at this point.”

“We need to get out of here,” Anya reminded him. “Before people come out and find us. Not to mention that.” She nodded at the head.

“True.”

He carefully lifted his Slayer and laid her on the back seat of the car as Anya scrambled to her feet.

Buffy was lighter than she should have been, Giles thought with a pang. She had definitely lost weight, and even in the dim light, he could see the circles under her eyes. She had been burning under the ferocity of her hunt, but now her body had caught up with her and demanded a halt. He would have to Watch her carefully. Nothing would be served if she defeated whoever was doing this but destroyed herself in the process.

As he drove Anya home, he questioned her more closely about the appearance of Spike and Ethan Rayne. She had given him a running commentary over the cell-phone, but Giles wanted additional detail.

“You never saw Spike clearly?”

“No. He stayed in the shadows until the wizard teleported him away.”

“And Ethan left by teleportation as well?”

“Uh-huh.”

Giles frowned. The whole thing was distinctly odd.

“Tell me about the trap that held Buffy.”

Anya blew out air. “It looked like something solid, like she was caught in a block of ice or something. She couldn’t move at all. When he got mad because she wouldn’t call me, the sides of the block started to come together.” She paused a moment, swallowed. “It was crushing her.”

He refused to dwell on the horror of that particular image. “How did he tighten it? Did he say anything?”

“No. I think he had something with him. A talisman or something. I could see a lot of magic right around him.”“But Buffy managed to break free of the trap.”

“Not all the way,” Anya corrected. “She went limp for a second. I thought she passed out. Then she started…glowing…and sort of dissolving the block. It would have taken awhile but she would definitely have gotten out.”

They reached Xander and Anya’s apartment building. Xander was outside, staring wildly up and down the street. As soon as he saw the car, he ran forward.

“Oops.” Anya said. “I thought he’d sleep longer than that.” She rolled down the window and called, “Everything’s all right, honey,” encouragingly.

“Where have you been? I thought something happened to you!” He caught side of Buffy in the back and swallowed. “Is she ok?”

“She’s fine. Anya will explain it to you.”

The ex-demon sighed and hopped out of the car. Giles drove away, hearing Xander’s voice through the open window. “We need to have a SERIOUS TALK!”

Thoughts were clamoring for attention in his mind, but he forced himself to focus on his driving and on keeping an eye out for occult creatures and/or traps until he reached Buffy’s house. He looked in the back seat at the Slayer.

“Buffy. We’re at your home. Can you walk?”

“Mm.”

He moved around to the back door and shook her gently until she staggered out of the car. He half-led, half-carried her to the house and used his key to open the front door.

Joyce and Dawn met him in the front hall.

“Buffy! Are you all right?”

“Sorry,” she slurred. “I’m sorry. I’ll find him. Stop him.”

“She needs to sleep,” Giles said. “She’ll be fine.” He hoped he was telling the truth.

He helped her up the stairs, the other two women following close behind, and eased her down onto her bed, where Buffy immediately dropped back into deep sleep. Joyce, tears glistening in her eyes, knelt and removed her daughter’s shoes then covered her with a blanket. Even Dawn reached out and gently stroked her sister’s hair.

At that moment, if Giles had possessed the ability, he would have stripped Buffy of her powers and any memory of being a Slayer and moved the whole family to somewhere like Nebraska where hopefully vampires couldn’t survive among all that corn.

Since that was impossible, he quietly left the house, determined to do what he could. He might not be able to defrock Buffy of Slayer powers, but he was going to find some way to help her, and God help anyone who stood in his way.

  
\-----  
Back at his apartment, Giles focused his mind on the mundane task of making tea and doctoring it with a healthy serving of Scotch. Then, he settled on the couch, leaned his head against the back, and addressed his mind to the situation.

However, his mind ran into difficulties because the situation made absolutely no sense. Ethan and Spike had teamed up to kill people, seemingly in a challenge to Buffy. It was completely out of character for the wizard, who preferred to work from the shadows. Admittedly, Spike was doing the killing, but why challenge the Slayer in the first place? Buffy wasn’t trying to hunt him down. All he had to do to avoid her was to stay out of the Sunnydale area.

And why was Spike allowing himself to be used? From all that Giles had observed, the vampire wasn’t interested in taking orders from anyone. Was it some sort of repayment for removing the chip? Was Spike actually under Ethan’s control? The prospect of having to rescue Spike from Ethan, not to mention explaining it to Buffy, made him shudder.

And speaking of the chip, the assumption that Ethan had removed it led to another problem. His old compatriot had never been that powerful. He had never cared enough to study, always looking for short-cuts. Not that the young Rupert Giles had been the embodiment of a strong work ethic, but under all the posturing and arrogance, had been an honest desire to know how magic worked. That desire had driven him much deeper into the working of magic than Ethan had ever gone.

Of course, Ethan could have grown up and become studious, but Giles hadn’t seen any sign of increased maturity in their recent encounters. As far as he could determine, he was still the same old ‘the world owes me whatever I want, and they’d better pay up’ wizard that he’d always been.

So where was he getting the ability to perform complicated medical procedures, cast multiple teleportation spells, and create traps capable of restraining Slayers at least for a short time? It almost sounded as if a third party were involved, someone they didn’t know about.

Which led to the biggest problem of all. Why would someone do this?

Giles groaned, rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes, and attempted to regroup.

The first thing that had happened was the removal of Spike’s chip, which had restored the vampire to his original powers. Spike had, as was fairly easy to foresee, decided to revenge himself on Buffy, and he had started by attacking her friends.

Something twitched at the back of his mind. The attacks on Willow and Xander hadn’t been lethal. Giles had seen the bite on Willow’s neck, and it hadn’t been very deep: it didn’t even approach a killing strike. Xander had been hurt more seriously, but still, given that Spike could have thrown him in front of a bus, it hadn’t been an all-out assault.

The later attacks had certainly been lethal enough, but they hadn’t directly threatened Buffy. They had just infuriated her, set her on a deadly hunt for the vampire.

He frowned. Was the object not to kill Buffy, but to kill Spike as Anya had suggested?

But why not kill Spike outright? With the chip in his head, anyone off the street could have killed Spike if the vampire was prevented from running away. It wasn’t like anyone would have even objected particularly to the killing of Spike, although Buffy might because he was unable to defend himself which offended her basic sense of decency. Now, of course, she was perfectly ready to kill him on her own….

Giles sat up. He had the strong sensation that he was close, but he still didn’t know what he was close to. The purpose of this entire exercise appeared to be to set Buffy against Spike. But why? What was he missing?

Despite the tightly-shut windows and doors of his apartment, a breeze brushed over him, ruffling his hair. Giles stiffened, remembering the attack in The Magic Box, but there was no coldness here, no sense of menace. He suddenly caught the scent of fresh grass.

He turned, following the progress of the breeze around the apartment, as the curtains swayed, and pages of his books flipped back and forth. A sheet of paper wafted from his desk to the floor, and the breeze swirled once more around him and then dissipated.

“Never let it be said that I looked a gift visitation in the mouth,” he said softly, crossing to the paper.

Mathilda scowled out of her picture. Giles looked back. Somehow, she was the key. He had been wrong. The removal of Spike’s chip had not been the first event in this drama. That honor belonged to Buffy’s dream about an old story with a sad ending.

Mouth tight, he snatched up the phone.

  
\-----  
It took several minutes and some agitated underlings, but Giles was finally put through.

“Travers, here. Giles do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. It is time, and more than time, for you to tell me about whatever the big bloody secret regarding the Spirit-Killer.”

“What are you on about?” Travers said irritably. “What big secret? I’ve told you what I know. She was only a Slayer for about eight months. There was nothing special about her.”

No, the fact that a sixteen-year-old girl had died fighting demons wouldn’t be anything special to Travers.

“You’re lying,” he said flatly. “There’s something about Mathilda Sawyer and the vampire who was in love with her. Something the Council doesn’t want me to know.”

Travers snapped, “You know the information that is required to perform your office as Watcher for the current Slayer. I would remind you that you do not rank particularly high within the Council, so it is reasonable that you are not privy to the more sensitive information.”

“Listen to me,” Giles’ voice dropped to an ice whisper. “I have a string of particularly hideous murders and a Slayer balanced on the knife-edge of her self-control. If something happens to Buffy, and I find out that it’s due to your withholding information I need to help her, you will find the combined attention of Angelus and Drusilla a gentle caress in comparison to what will happen.”

It was quiet for a moment, and then Travers said mildly, “Tell me what’s happening.”

He went through the events of the past few weeks, starting with Buffy’s first dream about what turned out to be the Spirit-Killer. Travers listened without interruption until Giles finished then sighed deeply. “Oh, bloody hell.”

That didn’t sound promising. “What?”

“I sincerely hoped this wouldn’t happen while I headed the Council.”

“WHAT?!”

“It sounds as if someone is taking steps to prevent the prophecy regarding the Adversary from being fulfilled.”

Giles ran through his mental database. “I’m not familiar with that particular prophecy.”

“No one on the Council is familiar with it except myself. This is eyes-only material.”

“But you’re going to share the material now.” It wasn’t a question.

“Good God, Giles. Of course I’m going to share it now. Surprising as it may seem, I don’t wish Buffy any harm.”

“All right.” Giles perched on the corner of his desk and pulled out his notebook. “What is this prophecy?”

“In a nutshell – I’ll give you the exact Latin in a moment – the prophecy states that if a Slayer and an Adversary become allies, they gain significantly in power.”

“What form of alliance?”

“It varies. If they simply agree to work together, each may gain some slight strength. They may not even notice. If the alliance becomes stronger, if emotional bonds form, if, in short, they fall in love, the amount of power increases exponentially.”

“What if the Slayer goes dark?” Giles shuddered, picturing Faith linking up with Angelus.

“That’s not how it works. That’s why this has never really come up before. The bond between Slayer and Adversary can’t come from the Slayer turning to evil.”

“But this has happened before,” Giles insisted. “Angel and Buffy loved each other. Why didn’t that fulfill this prophecy?”

Travers harrumphed. “And we all saw how that turned out. No, the Souled Vampire is a special case. He was cursed with his soul, he didn’t deliberately turn to the light on his own. Although,” he added charitably, “Angel has, in general, worked diligently on his redemption.”

Giles caught the ‘in general’ but wasn’t worried about Angel at the moment. “And you think this was happening with Buffy and Spike?”

“Good Lord, no! I saw that he was interested in her when we were there for the review, but it was undoubtedly some sort of carnal lust. Spike doesn’t have a soul. He isn’t capable of love. And Buffy’s disdain for him was obvious. Very proper. No, someone else thinks the prophecy is being fulfilled, and that’s why these events are happening.”

Travers sounded kind, helpful, and sensible. His explanation made sense. It all made sense, but something was still bothering Giles.

“In her dream, Buffy was told this was a very old story, and there was something in the legend about a vampire having feelings for Mathilda Sawyer.”

“Yes, well, you know how these things get embellished. Supposedly, a vampire named Jared was attracted to Mathilda. Crichton, her Watcher, showed her that he was using her. Also, Mathilda’s upbringing made her very distrustful of others, which was fortunate in this case, and she shunned him. They killed each other which proves Jared felt nothing.”

“That was the only time this happened?”

“There was one other time in the sixteenth century with the Slayer Susanna Penwick. Most unfortunate. She was actually in danger of succumbing to the vampire’s lure.”

There was a long pause. Giles frowned into the phone. “And?”

“I dislike talking about this. It was not our finest hour.” Another long pause, and Travers said with extreme reluctance. “Susanna’s Watcher denounced her for a heretic and witch. She was burned at the stake.”

“Dear God,” Giles felt cold. He knew there was danger every night she was on patrol. He had even faced the fact that there might come a time, if she was turned to a vampire, when he would have to slay her.

But the part that made her Buffy would already be dead, and he knew that he would not long survive the killing of her demon self. He tried to imagine deliberately sending Buffy to her death. How could someone betray the trust that was necessary between Slayer and Watcher?

“Rupert, we would all hate having to do such a thing,” Travers said gently. “But it was necessary. Her soul was in the gravest danger.”

“Was it?” Giles was still horrified over an action that had occurred four hundred years ago. “Why would it have been so terrible if a Slayer and vampire loved each other? The prophecy says the Adversary must turn toward the light. Even without a soul, they must choose Good over Evil.”

“They can’t, Giles. The prophecy speaks of something that isn’t possible. That’s why the information isn’t bandied about. The forces of evil would use it for their own purposes, and the Slayers would be confused, poor girls. Demons are foul and soulless beings. They cannot love. Particularly not a Slayer. Now, I’ll send you a copy of the original prophecy, and a list of people who might be orchestrating this. Keep an eye on Buffy and call me if you need anything else.”

Giles hung up the phone, switched on his fax, and sat numbly waiting for the information. He couldn’t wrench his mind away from the Watcher who had sent Susanna to her death. Could a demon do something much worse than such a betrayal?

Travers had sounded so sure, so confident in how things were. He remembered being sure once. It seemed very simple when he was studying in England. There were humans and there were demons. Us. Them. Good. Bad. Then, he had become Buffy's Watcher and met Angel. Not to mention Oz, Anya, Faith, and yes, even Spike. And Dawn. He had no idea whether Dawn had a soul.

The Initiative had been made up of and interested in protecting humans, but they seemed almost soulless in their interest of experimenting on demons, some of whom were quite harmless. It had taken Maggie Walsh to create Adam. Good and bad humans. Good and bad demons? Humans could switch, one to the other. Could demons? And if they could, where did that leave the Slayer?


	7. Chapter 7

New Orleans, Spike reflected as he sauntered down Bourbon Street, was truly Disneyland for vampires. The place adored them. There were souvenir stores, tours, people practically coming up and begging you to suck on their jugular. He felt like Mickey sodding Mouse. 

On a practical note, there was a thriving, if that was the word, vampire population, and an impressive system of support services in place. Spike had never seen so many dealers in wholesale blood.

That was handy because he still wasn’t doing much hunting. The feelings of empathy he had discovered in Sunnydale were unfortunately still with him. Attacking the innocent didn’t work any more. The demon simply refused to surface.

On the other hand, the gang of frat boys who had decided to make him their target one night under the supposition that he was a) gay b) rich and c) no match for the five of them hadn’t been a problem. They had also been wrong on all counts although c) was the only one that really mattered. He smiled reminiscently. A good meal like that one could last you for weeks.

All in all, he liked the place. The local vampires were suitably impressed with Spike, killer of two Slayers. He didn’t join one of their ‘families’ but they remained friendly enough, even allowing him to doss in one of the empty townhouses they kept for cover. He also didn’t find himself lacking for companionship when he desired it.

Particularly female companionship, he thought, increasing his swagger as he caught the admiring glances of a pair of young lovelies waiting to get into a club. No, a fellow never needed to be lonely in the Big Easy, and if he tended to pick girls with long blond hair, what was so unnatural about that?

That night, however, Spike found himself uninterested in hanging out in one of the many bars or in chatting anyone up. Although he tried, he couldn’t shake a feeling of tension, a sense of something wrong, that wouldn’t let him settle in at one of his usual haunts. Instead, he wandered through the city, watching the population, human and otherwise, as they surged around him. As the night progressed past midnight, his rambles took him out of the main tourist district and into the quieter side streets.

He relaxed slightly in the relative peace, another change from his earlier existence when he’d always wanted to be at the center of things, preferably causing trouble. Now, after being so long on his on, Spike found that he actually enjoyed the occasional bout of solitude.

He smiled slightly. If I’m not careful, I’ll be sticking my hair up in front and reading depressing poetry.

He knew part of the reason for the night’s disquiet. While he had slept that day, he had dreamed of Buffy. It hadn’t been the fun kind of dream either, only an image of her lying unconscious on a dark street, the stake fallen from her hand.

Spike had made a deliberate effort to force Buffy and Sunnydale from his mind, filling his time with various amusements shooing away any memories that tried to creep in around the edges. That part of his life was over and done with. Time to move on. And it was getting easier. The dream that day had been the first time he had dreamed of her in a couple of weeks.

The panic that had wakened him tried to make itself known once more, but Spike shook it off. It was just the last throes of his obsession with her. Next time, he would see her get run over by a car or something, laugh, and then it really would be over.

He passed a park bench where a homeless man slept, covered by several sheets of newspaper. Spike had gone several steps beyond the bench when the meaning what he’d absently noted sank in: KILLER STALKS CALIFORNIA TOWN written in bold letters over a picture of a shrouded body, a house, and part of a tree.

He knew that house. And he’d lurked behind that tree often enough. Spike whirled, snatching the paper. The majority of the story was continued on a later page, and he started grabbing at the rest of the homeless man’s makeshift bedspread.

“What the fuck are you doing, asshole?” The man grabbed at the paper in Spike’s hands, and received the full force of the vampire’s snarl in return. Spike didn’t even notice the fleeing man as he frantically scrabbled through the scattered pages.

Finally, he found the rest of the story. Ten people messily dead in three weeks. Fear turned him icy as he scanned the list of those killed, and the relief at not recognizing any of the names made his knees buckle. He sank to the bench and buried his face in his hands, trying to control his trembling.

“Won’t be much longer ‘fore it’s somebody you know.”

Spike jerked upright. The Slayer from his vision was sitting next to him on the bench. When he met her gaze, she nodded to him companionably.

Furious at having been caught in so vulnerable a position, he dropped the paper. “It’s nothing to do with me.”

She snorted. “Yeah, I can see you don’t care a bit.” She pointed at the paper. “Like I said, they’ll start on her friends and her family soon.”

He thought about denying interest again, but given that she’d seen him almost pass out from fear, it seemed pointless. “Who’s they?” he gritted. “Who’s doing this?”

She scratched the bridge of her nose. “Buffy thinks it’s you.”

“Me!?” he stared at her in disbelief. “I haven’t been in Sunnydale in more than a month.”

“I know that, and you know that.” she smiled at him. “You’re bein’ set up.”

“Then go and tell Buffy that!” He sprang to his feet, stalked a few steps away. “You’re both Slayers, you should get along famously, all girls together. Why haunt me?”

“I’ve tried. I can’t reach her.” The Slayer’s voice gentled. “There’s not too much of Buffy left right now.”

Fear touched him again and he strode back to her. “What do you mean, there’s not much of Buffy left? What’s happening to her?”

“It’s hard to tell it right.” She thought a moment. “You have to understand: when you’re bein’ the Slayer, really bein’ the Slayer, stuff don’t hurt. It can kill you, but it can’t hurt you in…in your heart.”

She looked at him to see if he followed and Spike nodded. It sounded a little like his feelings during a hunt, but he didn’t think either Slayer would care for the comparison.

“Anyhow,” she went on, “Buffy hurt so bad, she hid inside the Slayer. I’m not a Slayer anymore, since I’m dead and all, so I can’t get to her. Right now she’s not the Slayer either, because she almost got herself killed fightin’ that wizard, but she’s too weak for me to talk to, and….”

“Wait. Wait.” There was too much to take in. Buffy was weak from almost being killed by a wizard? What the hell was happening back in dear old Sunnydale?

He said the first thing that came into his head. “If you can’t reach Buffy, how can you talk to me?”

She looked at him contemptuously. “You love her, you fool. How do you think?”

Spike sighed. He thought of arguing but why bother, really? He did still love her, as much as he’d tried to forget.

“Come on.” He started up the street.

“Where we off to?”

“My place. The sun will be coming up soon in case you haven’t noticed. Although being a pile of dust sounds rather restful at the moment.”

She trotted along beside him, ignoring his glare down at the top of her head. She was a tiny thing, no more than five feet if that. She barely came up to the middle of his chest.

“So, Slayer, how did you manage to take out the nasties? Stake them in the kneecaps, did you?”

She scowled at him mightily. “I did all right, Vampire. You can be sure of that.”

“I’m sure you were terror on two tiny feet. What’s your name, Pipsqueak?”

“Mattie,” she said shortly.

He raised an eyebrow. “Mattie the Vampire Slayer?”

“Not like Ma knew what’d I be when I was born. She would of throwed me in the river. Spike’s not wonderful either. That’s what you name dogs.”

“True enough, I suppose. Who’s setting me up, Mattie?”

“Partly that wizard what took the…the thing out of your head,” she said promptly. With a dark look, she added, “Not that you didn’t help him along by hitting that boy and biting the witch.”

He sighed. “So I got carried away. I didn’t kill them, did I? Hell, if Willow hasn’t had worse marks off Tara or Oz, they weren’t doing their job properly.”

Unexpectedly, Mattie laughed. “You’re a caution. Just like Jarrod. I don't know who all's doin' this,” she added. "But the wizard ain't by himself."

They had reached his townhouse by then, so Spike waited until they were inside before asking, “Who’s Jarrod?”

“Another vampire.” She was quiet a moment, then said softly. “The one who loved me.”

“The vampire who loved you? Sounds like a bad Bond flick.” Spike moved about the room, lighting candles. “If vampires run about falling in love with Slayers all the time, I’m surprised there’s not a Hallmark division.”

“It's Only happened one other time I heard tell of. Back in the days of that king what cut off all his wives’ heads.”

“Henry the Eighth,” he said absently.

When he turned back to Mattie, her head was bent, and she was twisting her hands together. “They killed her. Burned her. Her Watcher give her to the priests and said she was a witch.”

Spike was shocked, being reasonably certain Giles would cut off his own head before injuring Buffy in any way. “Why? Because a vampire loved her?”

Mattie shook her head, still not looking up. “Because she loved the vampire back. It’s not supposed to happen. Not ever.”

“Lowered herself did she? I’m surprise she didn’t agree to it. Thankful they saved her from a fate worse than death.”

Bitter anger surged up in him. Bloody wonderful that was, humans thinking it was better to kill off the Slayer then have her love such a low, foul creature as a vampire. He hoped they’d been devoured by something particularly nasty or perhaps a nice bout of plague.

Mattie shook her head. “It’s not just the Watchers against it. The Dark Ones don’t want y’all together either. There’s a thing like a tale, an old saying…”

“A prophecy?” Spike interrupted.

“Yeah, that’s it. A prophecy that says if the Slayer and somebody like you join together, you both get more powerful.”

“More powerful in what way?” he asked curiously, possibilities dancing in his mind. Beyond any feelings he had for Buffy, power was always good. If he could persuade her….

Mattie seemed to know what he was thinking and scowled. “Nobody knows what way. Like I said, this don’t hardly ever happen, and it got stopped the one time it could have come to something. Besides, you can’t join just for the power. It has to be real. And the more feelin’ there is behind it, the more power comes from the pairing.”

Spike said slowly, “If Slayer and vampire teamed up for, convenience, say, neither would gain any particular power. But for friendship or for love….”

“The power would grow,” Mattie finished. “It was said,” she added carefully, “after Susanna and Katherine came to love each other, magic couldn’t harm Susanna and the sun didn’t burn Katherine.”

Spike sat down abruptly. It was no surprise that Hell’s forces would be frantic to stop the fulfillment of such a prophecy. A Slayer immune to magic would significantly tip the balance of power.

“But why would the Watchers care?” he spoke his thought aloud. “Shouldn’t they want a stronger Slayer even if a vampire is part of the bargain?”

“Spike,” Mattie said gently. “For it to work the strongest, a vampire has to love the Slayer. Not want or need, but love. If you can truly love someone who fights on the side of Good, without you havin’ a soul, it turns their whole way of thinkin’ on it’s head.”

It would affect everyone’s way of thinking, he realized. Vampires were evil and did evil things. And enjoyed them. It was like a built-in escape clause. “I don’t have a soul, which means I’m evil. Therefore, I can do whatever I want.”

But this prophecy implied that he had a choice, and that the choice could matter. Suddenly, the fact that he loved Buffy wasn’t simply frustrating or annoying. It was terrifying. He didn’t want to be a creature of prophecy. That was for blokes like Angel who had the whole repentance thing down, not to mention the brooding. Spike had been sublimely content as a vampire. He didn’t want to change. But somewhere along the way, it appeared that he had.

Still, there was one inescapable factor. “Be that as it may, Pet,” he said, lighting a cigarette and drawing the smoke into his lungs with relief. “There’s one problem the wizard and whoever haven’t considered. Buffy doesn’t love me. She doesn’t even like me. She's made that crystal clear.”

“Somebody seems to think she might,” Mattie said. “Or might could start. Part of what’s grievin’ her so hard is she thinks it’s you doin’ this. Mostly she wishes she’d killed you when she had the chance, but partly she’s just sad it’s you.” She fixed him with her gaze. “Deep down, Buffy didn’t think you’d do this.”

Spike knew the sudden happiness that went through him was all out of proportion to Mattie’s words, but he couldn’t help it. Someone, somewhere, thought Buffy capable of loving him, one day at least. Plus, it mattered to her that he was the one killing the people. Not exactly a declaration of eternal devotion, but he would take what he could get.

He covered the urge to grin like an idiot by dragging on the cigarette, and asking, “So, what happened with you and your vampire, Pet? Who split you up?”

She looked away and said softly. “We did it ourselves, I reckon, Jarrod and me. Couldn’t get past what we were.”

  
\-----  
The room seemed to ripple and Spike found himself on the bank of the river where he had first seen Mattie. There were certain differences, however: it was night, and he seemed to be invisible to the two figures who also stood there, glaring at each other.

Mattie was recognizable – even wearing the same clothes she’d worn in their other encounters – and it was a good bet the male vampire she faced was Jarrod.

He was tall, burly, dressed in jeans and and old shirt of his own, a shock of dark hair falling in his eyes. His face was human, but his eyes were flashing from dark to gold and back again, and it was obvious to Spike that he was barely holding on to his temper.

Mattie was glaring too and holding her stake like she meant to use it. “What ails you, girl?” Jarrod said angrily, nodding at the stake. “I ain’t done nothing to you. Nor to anybody in months.”

“Ruth-Ann’s has been killed,” Mattie said coldly. “Bled dry.”

Jarrod shook his head, “Your sister? Not by me, she ain’t.” His face softened. “Mattie. I wouldn’t touch one of your folks.”

She snarled, “You were seen. Doc Arnold and the preacher both saw you leave from her house.”

“They’re lyin’,” he said flatly. “Mattie, who you gonna believe? The preacher who said you were on your way to hell for raisin’ a hand to your Pa? The Doc I had to drag to tend you? Or me, what brought you food and wood while the fever was on you and your teacher?”

“It was a trick!” she shouted in fury. “Like all your sweet words. A trick to get in good with me so I wouldn’t Slay you! Marg’ret tried to tell me, but I wouldn’t heed. I didn’t Slay you and now Ruth-Ann’s dead!”

Her voice broke, and she clamped a hand over her mouth as the tears fell, but her grip on the stake never wavered.

Jarrod started toward her. “Mattie. Sweetheart. It wasn’t me, I swe ar. I wouldn't do nothin' to hurt you. I love you.”

She screamed in rage and pain and leaped forward, stake slashing out. With a curse Jarrod leaped aside, but she stabbed him through the shoulder, and he stumbled to the ground, with a roar of pain.

When he stood, he was in vamp face. “Damn you, Slayer. If that’s how you want it….”

They closed.

Spike could tell that Mattie was nowhere near Buffy’s level of power as a Slayer, and her fury was further hampering her efforts. Still, she was blindingly fast and Jarrod had to use all his own skill to keep her back.

He struck her across the face with his fist and she fell backwards and lay stunned.

Spike started forward but then remembered this had already happened long ago. Still, he wished he could help her.

As Jarrod stood over the tiny Slayer, looking down, the vampire features began to shift back to human. Then, Mattie’s feet shot out, smashing into one of his kneecaps. Spike heard the crunch of bone and again the vampire screamed.

Jarrod turned his fall into a launch downward onto her body, and Mattie had no way to scramble free. She gave one small cry as his fangs sank into her neck and then was still.

After only a few moments of feeding, he pulled back, face snapping back to human.

“Mattie?” He sat up, frantically staunching the wound, and patted at her face with shaking hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. C’mon, honey, wake up. I didn’t take that much.”

But she was so small, she had little to spare.

Spike blinked and realized he was staring into the flame of one of his candles. Mattie was sitting where he’d left her, but she was fading, now, ghostly.

“What happened to Jarrod?” he asked.

“He stayed out until the sun came up,” she answered. As she faded away entirely, she called. “Remember, Spike we couldn’t get past what we were.”

Then she was gone.

Quite an encounter, that was, he thought looking around his comfortable room and thinking of the comfortable new life he’d built for himself. There was nothing he had to do. She’d laid no geas on him. Events in Sunnydale would resolve themselves without his intervention. One day, he might be truly back to his old self and able to enjoy hunting. He could find Drusilla and Darla, and have fun tormenting Angel.

Someone, somewhere thought there was a chance Buffy might love him one day.

With a sigh, he hauled out his pack and began to sort through his weapons.

  
End Part 7


	8. Chapter 8

Buffy opened her eyes and was surprised by the unfamiliar angle of the sun. Slept late, I guess. Wonder why nobody called me? 

Then, she made the mistake of trying to roll over to look at her alarm clock.

“Urg!” Buffy groaned, as every muscle in her body screamed individually.

She lay still again, not even daring to blink. What happened to me? Was I hit by a truck? Why didn't somebody take me to the hospital?

She frowned painfully, trying to pierce the thick fog that was surrounding her brain. C’mon, c’mon, work already. I’ve heard of starting with a clean slate, but give me a break…

An image of the murdered child, arm pointed and accusing, flashed through her mind, followed closely by the events of the rest of the month, and peaking with last night’s encounter. Buffy closed her eyes, wishing the fog would come back.

Ethan Rayne. Working some kind of magic that had required the last ounce of her strength to even begin to counter.

Spike. No denying it now or hoping there was some kind of mistake. She had seen him, seen the light reflecting on platinum hair and leather duster. Ruthlessly, she stamped out any trace of sadness. Spike was a vampire; Spike was evil; that shouldn’t be so hard to keep in her head.

Anya. Who had been with her during the fight.

Panic drove her to sitting position and grabbing for the phone despite the her body’s loud protests. Buffy hit the speed dial for the Magic Box and trembled until she heard the ex-demon’s perky ‘customer’ voice on the other end.

“Magic Box. Can I help you?”

“Anya. You’re ok.” She sagged against the headboard in relief then winced as her muscles complained again.

“Buffy? Sure, I’m ok. Oh, Xander was kind of angry with me, but he calmed down and we had make-up sex. Along with ‘I’m glad you’re ok’ sex. And…”

“Great, Anya. That’s great. I’m glad. Could I talk to Giles?”

“Buffy?” Giles asked a moment later, “How are you feeling?”

“Sore. Even my hair hurts.”

Her Watcher’s voice was strained. “Yes. Well, you were in a very serious combat situation last night. Still, we must talk. Can you come to the shop, or shall I come ‘round to your home?”

“I can get down there. Just give me a few minutes to see if I can get everything working again.”

She hung up and took a deep breath. You can do this. You’ve had standing down for a long time. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and pushed up all in one motion, not giving herself time to think about it. The room stopped spinning around after only a few minutes of clutching the bedpost. That was probably a good sign, Buffy thought as she inched painfully out of her room.

An extremely hot shower helped, but she was still moving carefully as she descended the stairs and entered the kitchen.

To be confronted by Joyce and a very full table. “I heard you in the shower,” her mother said in a determined voice. “So I fixed you some breakfast. Which you are going to eat before you leave this house.”

“ALL of it?” Buffy stared in alarm at the array of food. “Mom, you toasted an entire loaf of bread! If I eat all this, the only way I’ll be able to defeat anything is by sitting on it. Buffy, the Vampire Squisher.”

Joyce didn’t smile. “You’ve lost at least 15 pounds this month. You are going to eat.”

At that moment, Buffy’s stomach chimed in with a loud growl. Faced by two such formidable opponents, she slid into a chair.

“Ok, ok,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll try to get something down. But I need to get to the Magic Box.”

Three eggs, four slices of toast, and an untold number of bacon strips later, she looked back up at Joyce who had remained sitting across the table the entire time. “Guess I was a little hungrier than I thought.”

“I guess so.” Her mother didn’t smile. “Last night was the first time I’d had a really good look at you since the killings started. You scared me. There didn’t seem to be much of you left.”

Buffy looked away, uncomfortable. “I know I’ve been heavy into the Slaying, but I’ve got to stop Spike.”

“Other things in Sunnydale have done an equal amount of killing,” Joyce observed. “And you’ve stopped them without burning yourself out.” She reached across the table and laid her hand over Buffy’s. “But you feel like these deaths are your fault, and Buffy, they aren’t.”

“Why aren't they?” she answered painfully. “I had all kinds of chances to kill Spike, and I didn’t.”

“Like you didn’t kill Angelus soon enough to save Jenny Calendar?” Joyce felt Buffy’s fist clench under her hand and heard her quick intake of breath. “It’s not the same thing. It would have been wrong to kill Spike while he couldn’t defend himself. And as for what’s happening now, he made the choice to start killing again.”

“He’s a vampire, Mom. I don’t think there was a choice for him to make.”

Joyce shook her head and started to clear the table. “I don’t believe that. He’s not an animal, or at least he wasn’t. There’s always a choice we can make.”

She fixed her daughter with a stern look. “For example, I’ve chosen that you are not going to go without eating or sleeping while you deal with this.”

“And Mom choices are always final.”

“Damn straight,” Joyce flicked a dishtowel at her. “Now, go talk to Mr. Giles.”

Buffy saluted. “Yes ma’am.”

  
\-----  
Despite what her mother had said, Buffy couldn’t ignore the similarities between the situations of Angelus and Spike, and her mind wrestled with the problem as she headed into town.

She had let Angelus live too long after he turned, unable to believe that the being…the man…she had loved and who had loved her had turned so completely to evil. But that had been because she knew Angel and his goodness before meeting his demon self. Spike had been evil when she met him, and had never given her a reason to think he’d become otherwise.

Actually, he’d shown that he was still pretty much evil several times, attacking her when he thought he’d lost the chip, setting everyone against each other, and attacking Willow and Xander.

But…

He had allied with her against Angelus, which ultimately cost him Drusilla. Of course, his reasons hadn’t been the best, but he had, in a sense, chosen good over evil.

He had proven Tara wasn’t a demon at the cost of pain to himself.

He had sat with her on the porch the night Joyce told her she had to go in for more testing, and Buffy could have sworn he had genuinely tried to comfort her.

He had been kind to Dawn.

Had all of that been just been for show, just a ways to get into her good graces? Spike’s most recent actions made them seem so.

And those were what counted. Buffy sighed. No matter what he’d done or been in the past, he was killing people now, and now was what counted.

She stopped with her hand on the knob of the Magic Box’s front door. Now was what counted. But the now that had been now back then – she frowned. Ok, that didn’t make a lot of sense from a correct English point of view, but she knew what she meant. Maybe, just maybe, she hadn’t done the wrong thing given the now that had existed when Spike had the chip in his head.

With a head-shake and a slightly lighter heart, she opened the door and entered.

Anya was standing behind the counter, and Giles was pacing the shop.

“Hi,” the ex-demon started, but that was as far as she got, before Giles grabbed Buffy’s arm and hustled her toward the back.

“We need to talk, but first,” he gestured toward the research table, which was now covered in boxes of doughnuts and bagels and containers of juice and milk. “You have to eat something.”

“Giles, Mom already fed the Buffy. You can call her and check. If I eat anything else, it’s going to get really messy in here.”

He frowned. “What shall I do with all this food?”

“We can give it to customers,” Anya said cheerfully. “Free breakfast with your eye of newt.”

“Yum,” Buffy said as she followed her Watcher into the training room.

She took her familiar place on the mat, and Giles sat in his straight-backed chair and began to polish his glasses.

“Buffy, I want to talk to you about our current situation. I know you feel guilty for not dealing with Spike before he re-emerged as a threat. However….”

“Uh, Giles? Mom did the not-your-fault-so-don’t-kill-yourself-over-it pep talk too. I’m dealing better than I was.”

He gave her a look. “Busy woman, your mother. What did she have to say regarding the prophecy of the Adversary?”

“The what?”

“Ah. It’s nice to know I can still contribute. I spoke with the Watcher’s Council last evening regarding our present circumstances, and their response was somewhat troubling.”

Buffy tensed. “They aren’t coming here, are they?”

“No. However, they did provide some pertinent information. Travers believes that the removal of Spike’s chip and the subsequent killings, are the result of someone, probably someone very powerful, attempting to prevent the prophecy of the Adversary from coming to pass. I concur. Ethan is simply not sufficiently powerful to perform this level of magic alone.”

“So, what prophecy is this?”

Giles removed a much-creased paper from one of his pockets. “Travers sent me the Latin, and I translated it as follows.”

The Slayer shall take the hand of her Adversary.   
The strength of their joining the measure of their power.  
Shadow will be illuminated by light.  
Light will cast a shadow.  
Balance restored.

Buffy wrinkled her nose. “Somebody thinks that’s about me and Spike?”

Giles nodded.

“Eewww.”

“Yes, well, I had a similar reaction, but…”

“Really? You SAID eewww?”

He glared at her. “As I was saying, once I got past my initial revulsion at the idea, I remembered certain things. I believe that Spike may have started developing certain…feelings for you.”

“Maybe,” she fiddled with her nails, not meeting her Watcher’s eyes.

“What about you?” he asked carefully.

“What about me?” she muttered, still not looking up.

“Buffy.”

“Oh, God, Giles, I don’t know.” She leaned back, crossed her arms and stared at the ceiling. “If you had asked me a month ago, I would have said the only feeling I ever had for Spike was hate. If I thought about him, it was just to wonder what crappy thing he was doing and if I needed to kill him now or later.”

“And now?”

Finally, she met Giles’ eyes. “Oh, I still hate Spike. And I’ll kill him as soon as I get the chance. But when Willow called and said he’d attacked them, it hurt for a second.” She laughed mirthlessly. “Stupid, huh? I mean it’s not like I didn’t know what he’d do. He attacked Riley and me as soon as he thought he got the chip out before. It’s probably a good thing Riley left, actually.”

“But if you were hurt that Spike attacked Willow and Xander,” Giles said softly. “Part of you must have thought he had changed since the attack on you and Riley.”

Buffy sighed. This was something she had never told anyone. “The night I made Spike tell me how he killed the other two Slayers,” she said, “we had a big fight. He tried to kiss me and I…said something pretty bad. I went home and Mom told me she had to go in for more testing. Dawn was in bed, so I went out on the back porch to deal. I was sitting there, not dealing very well, and Spike showed up with a shotgun.”

Giles stiffened, and she smiled a little. “Yeah, I think he’d decided no pain no gain. Anyhow, when he saw I was upset, he became the anti-Spike. Wanting to know what happened, could he help, whatever. And it sounded real. Like he really cared. I just sat there and didn’t say much, and he sat there too, almost until the sun came up. Later, it was like it didn't happen, but maybe, yeah, I thought he wouldn’t start killing again when he got the chance. Like I said, stupid.”

“No. No, I don’t think it was stupid,” Giles said slowly. “The nature of the vampire is to kill and to hate humans or at least hold them in contempt. But Spike proved, at least once, that he could move beyond that nature.”

Buffy looked at her Watcher with worried eyes. “But how could he move beyond being evil? Aren’t all vampires evil? That’s what you and Merrick told me. They kill people and change them into other vampires. And Spike’s doing all these murders with Ethan. Giles, I haven’t been wrong in Slaying….”

“No,” he soothed her. “You haven’t been wrong. Vampires are, indeed, generally evil and do evil things. Certainly, whatever Spike might have had the potential to become has been negated by his most recent actions. But Buffy, there is an old story about a Bishop who was out walking by the sea and met a mermaid who asked for a blessing. He thrust his staff into the sand and said it would sooner flower than God’s blessing descend on a creature like her. And the staff burst into blossom.”

Buffy looked at him unhappily, understanding that she would no longer be able to automatically drop her enemies into the box marked ‘bad’.

“But now,” Giles said briskly, “To the matter at hand. No matter the deeper philosophical issues, for the moment, our primary problem is stopping Ethan and Spike. Any thoughts?”

“Nope. I don’t have any idea how to look for him, especially since Ethan’s beaming himself and Spike wherever he wants to make a kill. Anya could track the magic energy, but I don’t want to take her out again.”

“I quite agree. I also have the ability to track this energy by spell. However, I have an alternative solution. A challenge.”

Buffy looked at him suspiciously. “A challenge? To who? About what?”

“To Ethan Rayne. A challenge to a duel of magic.” Giles held up his hand as she began to splutter in protest. “You know he and I have somewhat of a history. He always resented that I was his superior in magic. As a matter of fact, I’m rather surprised he hasn’t already contacted me in order to gloat over his newfound abilities. I don’t believe he’ll be able to resist a challenge from me.”

“Right. Burning off your eyebrows wasn’t nearly enough for him!” Buffy sprang up and began to pace. “No! You’re talking about using yourself as bait! I’m sure you used to kick wizard ass, but how long has it been?”

“I assure you my abilities are undamaged. It’s rather like riding a bicycle,” Giles huffed. “As for my eyebrows, I didn’t know what we were dealing with then. Now, I do. Besides, you will be here when I issue the challenge. When he shows up, you and I together,” he smiled ferally. “Will kick his ass.”

“Ethan will know we’re planning something,” she said, but the steam was going out of her as the sense of Giles’ words sank in.

“He’ll know, but he won’t care. In his arrogance, he’ll be sure he can defeat us.”

“What if he’s right?” she said in a small voice. “Giles, it took everything I had to even start to break free. And it won’t be just Ethan. It’ll be Spike.”

He said gently. “And you won’t be alone. I will have magic counterspells and protections in place. After I immobilize Ethan, Spike shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” she whispered. “I kind of need you around, Giles.”

“Now you know how I feel every night when I send you on patrol,” he answered. “Our fears for each other must not keep us from our tasks. Innocents are dying, Buffy. We must stop it.”

Buffy scowled. “Have I mentioned that I really hate it when you’re right?”

“Rather frequently. Right then. In three days time, the moon will change from wane to wax.” At her blank look, he clarified, “It will begin to fill. That will be the best time for such an endeavor. I will issue the challenge then. In the meanwhile, patrol as usual. Off you go.”

Blinking a little at her sudden dismissal, Buffy went, snagging a jelly doughnut on her way out the door.

  
\-----  
That night, having sent his Slayer safely out on patrol, Rupert Giles removed his glasses, and threw back the large mat in the center of the floor training room floor. The silver pentagram seemed to glow even in the diffuse light of the white candles set about the room.

Stepping into the center, he closed his eyes and drew on his own power, so carefully learned and hoarded.

“I challenge you, Ethan Rayne, by word and by deed and by thought.  
Let our wills be raised in opposition.  
Let your power be tried against mine.  
Heed this challenge or acknowledge me ever the victor.”

There was no answer, nor did he expect one, not that night. Ethan would have his spells to gather and his strategy to plot. But answer he would and soon, tomorrow or the next night, before the moon began to fill.

Giles had watched Buffy as she described that night on her porch with Spike, had seen the sad but determined look in her eyes as she acknowledged herself prepared to kill him. She had already had to kill one creature she loved. Not that he thought she loved Spike, but there was something there. If nothing else, it would bring back the time she had killed Angel, and Giles wanted desperately to avoid that.

No, he would perform this task for Buffy. She would not be the one to Slay her Adversary.

  
End Part 8


	9. Chapter 9

Giles sat alone in the Magic Box, papers spread out on the table before him, ostensibly going over some research. It had been two nights since he had issued the challenge, and he was beginning to fear that Ethan was going to ignore him. The moon would begin to fill tomorrow night. If he were going to respond, it would have to be soon. He was too cunning not to take advantage of the moon’s darkness for his magic.   
To that end, Giles had sent Anya home early as he had done the night before, and Buffy was out patrolling. Ethan was his problem, and one Giles intended to handle on his own. He understood Buffy’s guilt over Spike because he had a similar emotion. If Giles had not gotten involved with black magic as a youth, Ethan would not currently be wreaking havoc on Sunnydale.

At least there had been no killings over the past two nights. Giles hoped that meant Ethan was preparing for their confrontation. He had called in a few markers of his own from certain colleagues and now wore a ring that carried a talisman capable of negating Ethan’s ‘hold’ spell long enough to give him one clear shot. One shot was all he planned to need. Anya had told him of Ethan touching Buffy while he had held her trapped, and the memory filled him with a cold and deadly rage. Not my Slayer, Giles thought.

Powerful wards and traps were set all around the shop, that would be triggered by the presence of a teleportation spell. If Ethan chose that mode of transport, an immediate explosion would greet his arrival. As for Spike, Giles had set the traps to involve holy water and crosses, and he was carrying the crossbow loaded and cocked. Let them come. He was ready.

At that moment, there was a quiet knock on the front door of the shop. Frowning, Giles rose and crossed to the front window. The Closed sign was up – he didn’t want customers getting caught in any sort of crossfire - and besides, it was eleven at night. Even in Sunnydale, most customers were gone by nine.

Ethan stood on the sidewalk, smiling benignly, relaxed, confident, and alone. Giles raised the hand that bore the ring, and the other mage pursed his lips and shook his head in gentle reproof.

“Rupert, is that any way to greet an old friend? And after sending me such a charming invitation too!” He held his hands out carefully, turning them so Giles could see that he carried no weapon, magical or otherwise. “I’ve offered you no threat or insult.”

“Your very existence is an insult to me,” the Watcher breathed. “The death of those innocents is an insult. As for threats….”

“I’m afraid I find threats rather tedious. I’ve always believed the saying actions speak louder than words.”

Giles tensed sure Ethan’s words presaged an attack, but the mage only jerked his head to beckon to someone who stood out of Giles’ line of sight.

A vampire walked into view, platinum-haired and clad in black leather. His head was bent, features hidden in the neck of the unconscious woman he carried in his arms. Her face was turned away, but Giles recognized the Indian-print dress, and pale hair. Tara.

“Now,” Ethan smiled. “Why don’t you let us in, and we’ll discuss this in civilized fashion?”

  
\-----  
At long last, the headlights illuminated the Welcome to Sunnydale sign. Maybe I should drive over it for old times sake, Spike thought with the hilarity that came from driving like the proverbial bat out of hell for two days straight.

The painted-over windows on the DeSoto let him travel through all but the brightest light of day, but the sun debilitated him, made him weak and dizzy. The strength of night sustained him now, and a swig of blood from the bottle on the seat beside him helped still further.

Spike had spent most of the drive trying to figure out his approach. Buffy would undoubtedly try to kill him on sight. The other Scoobies wouldn’t be any better, what with the witches interrupting his explanations with spellcasting, Anya trying to resurrect some of that vengeance demon ability, and Xander just babbling. Joyce had liked him in the past, but he had a feeling she was deep in ‘protect her young’ mode. He couldn’t forget that she had gone after him with an axe at their first meeting. He could possibly persuade the Niblet, but nobody listened to her anyhow.

That left Giles. Not that the Watcher was safe by any means, but he had the ability to stay calm. If Spike talked very fast, he might be persuaded to listen. Now, where was that apartment again?

“He’s at the shop.”

“Damnit!” Spike jerked the wheel and pulled the car back onto the road, sparing a glare for Mattie who had appeared in the passenger seat. “Give a fellow some warning before you do that, would you?!”

“Y’all might want to hurry,” she said grimly and vanished.

Oh, shit.

  
\-----  
Numbly, Giles unlocked and opened the door. Ethan breezed in, smiling, and waved the Watcher away as the vampire approached, still bent over his captive.

“Step back, Rupert. There’s a good chap. Don’t want to make our friend nervous, do we? He might start biting.”

He studied Tara as best he could as the vampire carried her into the Magic Box. She was still breathing, Giles saw in relief, and he couldn’t see any blood in her hair or on her clothes.

“Spike…” Giles began, then stopped, not knowing what else to say. After this last round of killings, how could anything he said possibly reach him?

The vampire raised his head and smiled, and Giles hissed in a breath of disbelief. The height and build were the same, not to mention the hair and coat, but even the morphed features were entirely different from Spike’s demon face.

It’s not Spike. Oh, God, Buffy, we’ve been wrong all along.

He looked at Ethan, and the other mage grinned at Giles’ expression.

“You’ve all been terribly easy to fool, Rupert. Really, it’s been like taking candy from babies.”

“Babies are about all you’re equipped to handle, aren’t they? Innocents. You’ve never been one to take on someone who could fight back. You don’t even have the stones to answer my challenge.”

Ethan’s face darkened. “I’ve got plenty of stones. Mine just happened to be ruled by my brains. It isn’t as if you didn’t hedge your bets. This shop’s primed to explode at your word. Of course, if it explodes now, you’ll take one of your precious innocents along with you. You planned for everything. Everything except my superior intelligence.”

Yes, keep talking. Give me time to think of something. Give Buffy time to decide to pass by the shop on the way home from patrol.

Giles folded his arms. “Yes, I confess that I didn’t realize you with your newfound abilities and your pet vampire would need to hide behind a young woman’s skirts. How did you get hold of her, anyway?” He felt a sudden stab of fear for Willow, who wouldn’t have let her lover be taken without a fight.

“Sleep spell as the little dears studied in the library,” Ethan shrugged. “Even now, the red-haired witch is dreaming sweet dreams in a storage closet. Take that ring off Rupert, slowly, and place it on the table, or my colleague will bite out her throat.”

The vampire had snarled at Giles’ insult, but hadn’t released his hostage. At Ethan’s words, he lowered his head once more and ran his tongue teasing over Tara's jugular.

The Watcher’s stomach lurched, but he kept his face impassive and made no move to take off the ring. “If you kill her, you lose your only bargaining point. And if I let you kill me, she’ll die in any case.”

Ethan shook his head. “Actually, that isn’t true. Neither girl saw us, so my cover’s safe. It would be rather good theater to have her wake and find your dead body. Nice addition of weeping and wailing.” His voice hardened. “However, having the Slayer find two dead bodies would also work quite well. Take the ring off, Rupert, or she dies now.”

Savagely, Giles yanked off the ring and slammed it onto the table. “What did you do with Spike? I presume you haven’t killed him. Isn’t Buffy supposed to do that?”

The dark mage applauded softly. “Got on to the prophecy of the Adversary, have you, Rupert? Clever.” He shrugged. “I don’t know where Spike is. He left town when he found out he wasn’t quite so evil as he had thought. I’ve fixed it so he’ll get an extremely warm welcome if he returns, don’t you think? Tonight should finish it off.”

“You never found out about the prophecy on your own, Ethan. Who’s behind you?”

“I’ve seen the same movies you have, Rupert. I’m not going to waste time telling you my grand scheme so that you can escape and thwart it.” He removed a talisman from his pocket. “Take heart. You will die, but the girl will live. ‘Tis a far, far better thing you do….”

“Fiat lux,” Tara whispered without opening her eyes.

The flash of light wasn’t particularly strong, but it went off directly into the vampire’s face. Cursing, he dropped Tara and clapped his hands to his eyes.

Involuntarily, Ethan turned toward the distraction. It was only for an instant, but when he turned back, Giles had caught up the ring, and Ethan found himself looking into the eyes of the Ripper.

The spell Ethan desperately shouted was absorbed by the ring, and then it was too late. Giles was on him, one hand bunched in Ethan’s shirt, the other pressing the point of an extremely sharp knife between his ribs.

“Have mercy, Rupert,” he gasped.

Giles shook his head. “There is no mercy here. Only justice.”

He drove the knife home with one quick thrust, twisting upwards to reach the heart. Ethan stiffened and gurgled, blood beginning to fall from his mouth. A glare of hate flashed from his eyes, and with his last breath, he managed to gasp a one-word spell.

Every one of Giles’ nerve-endings felt as if it burst into flame. He bent double in agony without even the breath to scream. It would stop in a moment, he knew, but for that moment, he was incapacitated.

Or he would have been, but through vision blurred with pain, he saw the vampire advancing on Tara. She had climbed to her feet, and there was a stake in her hand, but she was swaying, still dizzy from the remnants of the sleep spell. Even as Giles watched, the vampire caught her by the shoulders.

Somehow, he made himself seize one of the flasks of holy water he had stowed around the shop, and stagger forward. The pain was fading, but it still felt as if sharp knives were being stuck in him everywhere. He lacked the strength or coordination to open the stopper, so settled on using the last of his strength to smash the flask against the back of the vampire’s head.

The scream of pain and rage was deafening. The vampire spun, slinging Tara around as he did so, and threw her away from him. Unable to stop, she crashed into one of the bookcases, her head striking the edge of a shelf, and fell to the floor unconscious.

The vampire bore Giles to the floor, and he lacked the strength to fight or do anything other than twist his head slightly, so the bite wasn’t immediately fatal. Oh, bloody hell, he thought vaguely, as fangs tore into his neck.

I'm hallucinating was his next thought as a second platinum-haired, leather-clad figure appeared.

Suddenly the vampire feeding on him was gone, Giles was coughing and choking on dust, and Spike was kneeling over him, trying to stop the bleeding and snarling, “Don’t fucking die on me, Watcher!” p> Sorry, Giles thought, as his vision grayed out. No choice in the matter. He could feel himself fading. Buffy, my dearest child, forgive me for leaving your side.

  
\-----  
Buffy paced the dark streets of Sunnydale, every nerve keyed high. There had been no killings the last two nights, but she was sure it wouldn’t last.

She seriously wanted to find Ethan and Spike and end this tonight. Tomorrow, Giles would issue his challenge, and the thought frightened her.

Not that Giles wasn’t a heck of a Watcher. Great with the research, fantastic advice-giver, and nobody could say more with one raised eyebrow. But, when she thought about Giles, the first words in her head weren’t wizard duel. They were more like bow tie, or tea cup – although she was pretty sure that last was just one word. Yes, she’d seen what ol’ Ripper was like, but there were a lot of years and a lot of tweed since then.

And if something happened to him, Buffy wasn’t terribly sure she could stand it. Her mother’s illness had been horrifying enough, but the loss of Giles threatened her entire Buffyverse.

No, let the danger find her. That was what she was for, to fight the bad guys and take the heat. Much better than worrying.

Her neck was suddenly on fire, and Buffy spun, sure that Spike or some other vampire had crept up and bitten her. The street was empty behind her. Disbelieving, she touched her neck, but there was no bite, and her fingers weren’t stained with blood. What….

Giles. The Slayer knew it down in her soul. Her Watcher was dying.

“No,” she whispered, unable to draw in enough air to scream out the pain she felt building up in her chest. “Giles.”

She fled into the night, an arrow shot from a bow, unerringly speeding to where her Watcher lay.

  
\-----  
“How the hell could you think that sodding prat was me?” Spike growled, pressing a couple of scarves against Giles’ neck. “Takes more than a coat and a hairstyle to be Big Bad.”

He spared an ear to listen to the witch, but her heart still beat strongly. Just knocked out, probably, plus a little leftover spell damage. However, Giles was another problem. The scarves weren’t enough to stop the bleeding, and the Watcher was getting dangerously weak.

Spike sighed, knowing he only had one real option. “You’d really be hating this if you were awake,” he muttered. “Which makes it kind of fun, now that I think about it.”

With that, he placed his mouth to the wounds on Giles’ neck.

The demon tried desperately to surge to the fore at the taste of all that lovely Watcher blood, and Spike had to hold himself in with an iron grip to keep from drinking. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep his forehead from ridging or his fangs from descending. Still, he did keep the fangs out of the Watcher’s throat which was the best he could hope for under these circumstances.

Firmly not thinking about how wonderful this felt, tasted, and smelled, Spike ran his tongue over the bites, the coagulant factor in his saliva sealing the wound. The Watcher’s heart was fluttering a little, but he should do well enough with some rest. So, sit up now, mate before you start having a snack without really meaning to.

He raised his head just as Buffy kicked in the door of the Magic Box and froze. For an endless moment, Slayer and vampire stared at each other. Buffy's eyes, huge and black in her pale face, flicked from the body of her Watcher back up to Spike’s face. She began to shake, but her grip on the stake never faltered. Unconsciously, Spike ran his tongue over his lips, realizing at the iron taste that his mouth was stained with Giles’ blood.

Ok. He had to admit this looked bad.

Carefully, he pushed himself back from Giles. “Slayer,” he began softly. “This isn’t….”

And that was he had time for.

  
\-----  
She couldn’t take it all in at once. The scene seemed to fragment, hit her in patches. Giles on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Ethan with a knife in his heart. Tara, lying still in a corner. And in the center of it all, Spike, his mouth red with Giles’ blood.

Buffy could feel the tremors begin somewhere deep inside, feel the tears burning behind her eyes. She wanted to cry, scream, hide under the bed, die. Something, anything to make this pain go away.

Move over, the Slayer’s voice said clearly in her mind. Let me do this. Buffy got out of the way gladly.

  
\-----  
He saw the moment of her change. One second, she was trembling, mortal…Buffy…the next, the Slayer filled her, almost making her glow with an incandescent light. Part of him had a sudden yearning to move into that light, but the rest, the demon, rose up in recognition of the ancient enemy.

She struck like a shark going for kill, seeming to clear the area from the doorway to him in one leap. There was no banter, no threats or recriminations. She was in it for the kill. Spike barely had time to twist out of the way enough to keep the stake from his heart. In truth, the only thing that saved him was her feet slipping a little in her Watcher’s blood, and he still felt the air current from her stake’s passing.

Without missing a beat, Buffy whirled like a dancer and closed in. They struggled, Spike hampered by trying not to hurt her while keeping her from killing him. He caught her wrist, pushing the stake away.

“Listen to me,” he gasped, trying to shake off the demon. “I didn’t do this.”

Buffy’s expression of icy concentration never faltered. Her foot flashed out in a roundhouse kick, catching him in the gut as she yanked against his thumb and forefinger and broke his hold. He staggered and almost fell and she pressed forward again, slashing at him with the stake.

Fury began to grow in Spike. He could have been making his rounds of the Bourbon Street clubs about now, but no, he had to come back to SunnyHell and try to help this ungrateful bitch. And it wasn’t as if she’d ever appreciated the things he’d done for her in the past. As his anger increased, fueled by memories of the months he had been imprisoned by the chip, Spike’s demon gained more control, changing his fighting strategy from defense to attack.

Abruptly, he came in under Buffy’s guard and punched her in the jaw. Her head whipped to the side, and when she faced him once more, for a bare instant, Spike thought he saw deep sorrow in her eyes. His own attack began to falter, but the mask of the Slayer was back almost immediately, and the demon held fast in response.

She came in fast and low, tackling him, but he flung himself backwards to the floor, using their combined momentum to flip her over his head and into the Magic Box’s counter.

Glass and shelving broke beneath her and Buffy lay stunned for an instant. Before she could rise, Spike leaped and straddled her, using all his strength and weight to hold her down. She struggled furiously under him, but couldn’t gain leverage.

Spike grinned down at her, triumph singing through him. He could feel the blood surging through her veins, the staccato beat of her heart. The third Slayer to die at his hands.

Buffy

He had a sudden vivid image of her lifeless body, and horror threatened to overwhelm him.

He blinked, confused. She was the Slayer and he was a vampire. That was what they were. Jarrod’s howl of anguish rang through his ears. Unless they could see past it.

Spike’s grip had loosened as he grappled with his instincts, and Buffy heaved up beneath him, pitching him to the side and almost into Giles. She followed smoothly, straddling the vampire in turn, stake cocked back.

He didn’t even try to fight her. What was the point? If he killed her, he would be seeking the final death himself soon after, and he didn’t see getting out of the Magic Box with her still alive. Let it end here, then. Perhaps with his death, this round of killings would stop, and Buffy could go back to fighting the usual nasties. It wasn’t like he had a lot to live for anyhow, even without the chip. What was the use of a vampire who fell in love with the Slayer?

But some final burst of irritation over the fact that with all the evil acts he had committed, he was going to die over something he hadn’t actually done, made him say one final time “It wasn’t me, Buffy,” before closing his eyes against the final strike.

  
\-----  
Attack and retreat. Circle and parry and strike.

The fight, even the pain of her injuries, was a relief. Something concrete to focus on besides the overwhelming pain.

Not that the Slayer felt pain. She just did what had to be done and did it calmly, without rage or sadness. Injuries were ignored as unimportant.

When Spike struck her, the part that remained Buffy felt a pang of sadness, but that was gone almost immediately, and the Slayer slid fluidly back into attack posture.

But Buffy noticed that when her head snapped back around, Spike wasn’t in demon face, and his human features looked…unhappy? upset? He was back in demon mode even as an alarm went off inside her, and the Slayer resumed the fight without question.

The fall into the counter stunned her, and before she could regroup, Spike had her pinned. She struggled, but he just laughed and bared his fangs. I’m dead, the Slayer thought, and Buffy couldn’t even care very much. Fine, let someone else be called. Giles was dead, and she was tired.

Spike froze, his face shifted to human again, and his grip loosened as he stared down at her in something like horror. The Slayer was quick to take advantage of her adversary’s weakness, and twisted, flinging him away from her almost into her Watcher.

She was over him in an instant, ready to strike. The vampire didn’t struggle, just looked at her in resigned anger and said, “It wasn’t me, Buffy,” before closing his eyes.

The Slayer plunged the stake down, ignoring the stupid lie and pleased that the vampire had surrendered without further fighting. Just as the point touched his chest, Buffy reached out and stopped it.

It was a stupid lie. She had seen Spike with Ethan at the other killings. Hell, she had seen him feeding off Giles as she entered the shop. A very stupid lie.

Whatever else Spike was, he wasn’t stupid.

Not to mention that he hadn’t killed her when he had the chance and was apparently willing to die at her hand all of a sudden.

She looked back down at him and saw that Spike’s eyes had opened.

“Decide to relish the kill a bit, did you? Didn’t know torture was in your line, Slayer.”

“Shut up, Spike,” Buffy said absently. “Don’t even think about moving.”

She increased the pressure of the stake slightly, and he remained very still. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Buffy looked at Giles and saw with a leap of her heart that his chest was moving slightly. He wasn’t dead. Giles wasn’t dead, just covered in blood…and a very familiar-looking dust.

She leaned over closer to Giles, ignoring Spike’s resulting yelp. The bites in her Watcher’s neck were scabbed over although the blood on the floor around them was still sticky.

Sighing, she looked back down at the vampire she was sitting on. “It really wasn’t you, was it?”

  
End Part 9


	10. Chapter 10

“Buffy, no! Don’t!” 

Startled, Buffy looked away from Spike and saw that Tara was struggling weakly to sit up.

“It wasn’t Spike,” the witch gasped. “There was another vampire….”

“I know,” Buffy soothed. “It’s ok.”

“Pity you couldn’t have woke up five minutes ago, Pet,” Spike said dryly. “Saved us all a bit of bother.”

“I’m sorry,” Tara said earnestly, leaning back against the bookcase and raising her hand cautiously to touch her head.

Buffy’s lips twitched in an affectionate smile. Leave it to Tara to apologize – and mean it – for being knocked out so long she inconvenienced someone.

The remnants of her amusement were still tugging at her mouth as she looked back down to order Spike to stop pestering Tara, and she found herself smiling into his eyes.

Blue eyes. Eyes that blinked up at her and then went wide and defenseless in a face that was suddenly free of its normal sneer.

Time seemed to pause, and everything felt as if it were holding its breath. Buffy was certainly holding hers, the smile sliding off her face as the ramifications of the evening’s events struck her.

Somebody, somewhere, had gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to make her think that Spike had been working with Ethan, probably to stop the Prophecy of the Adversary from being filled. Which meant that somebody, somewhere, thought she and Spike might start to…care about…each other.

Until a month ago, Buffy would have laughed her ass off over the concept of having feelings other than hatred and disgust for the vampire. However, when this batch of killings started, she’d discovered a part of her that had been miserable over his apparent involvement. Now, that part was starting to feel happy. Really happy. Run around and wave your arms and squeal happy. Not feelings Buffy was used to associating with Spike.

Plus, she had pretty much taken Sunnydale apart looking for Ethan and (as she had thought at the time) Spike. So, he had gone away somewhere but come back just in time to rescue Giles. Which meant that he might have come back because of her. Which meant that he might have some sort of feelings for her as well. Especially since he was staring up at her, mostly expressionless, but with something in his eyes that scared her if she thought about it too much.

He cleared his throat, and said a little hoarsely. “You want to move that, Slayer?”

She was still holding the stake, Buffy realized, the point resting against his chest directly over his heart. She pulled it back hastily. I should probably get off him while I’m at it, she thought, feeling her face turn hot at finding herself still perched on his ribcage.

Unfortunately, she began to stand at exactly the same moment Spike decided to move out from under her and, since Giles was to their left, there was really only one direction for either of them to go. As Buffy swung her leg over from where she had been straddling Spike, he rolled right and started to come up, crashing into her supporting leg.

Buffy overbalanced and fell, unintentionally grabbing at Spike for support and taking him down with her. She lay in stunned silence for an instant, the feeling of Spike sprawled across her body with his face buried in her hair not helping her calm down in the least.

A second, simultaneous attempt to free themselves only managed to tangle things up further.

“No!” cried a panicked British voice. “You must stop. Buffy, we were wrong. Ethan…”

Slayer and vampire both turned their heads to look at the now-conscious Watcher then looked back at each other. One of Spike’s arms was trapped under her back, and one of her legs seemed to be wrapped around one of his. Most importantly, his face was barely an inch from hers. If she raised her head even a little, the results would be interesting, to say the least.

Buffy kept her head down on the floor and closed her eyes. She had a feeling that she would be able to manage everything better if she didn’t look at Spike. “We know.” She said as calmly as she could. “We’re working on it. I’ll hold still,” she added to the vampire. “You get up.”

“You sure?” he sounded amused. “I’m starting to enjoy this.”

The snide comment was welcome. She could deal with Spike being a pain in the ass much more easily than she could deal with him being…whatever it was he had been being.

Buffy opened her eyes again and scowled into the vampire’s face. “Off,” she said firmly.

He smirked, and his gazed flicked down to her mouth for a heart-stopping instant. Then he started hastily disentangling from her, and Buffy told herself that the feeling that shot through her was relief.

Once Spike was on his feet, Buffy sat up and pushed herself over to Giles. “Are you guys ok?” she asked, including both Watcher and witch in her question.

Tara was looking from Buffy to Spike with a slightly startled expression, but she nodded. “Just a bump. Mostly I’m still kind of sleepy from the spell.”

“I’m fine,” Giles sounded bewildered as he looked at the blood on the floor. “Which is somewhat surprising, given that I was bleeding to death.” He touched his neck, felt the wound’s scabbing. “You stopped it.” He looked at Spike and turned green. Oh, God, and I know how you did it too.”

Leaning negligently against the wall, Spike slid a cigarette into the corner of his mouth and said, “You mean it wasn’t good for you, Rupert? I’m crushed.”

He doesn’t have to be that much of a pain in the ass, Buffy thought crossly. Aloud, she said firmly, “Do either of you think you need to go to the hospital?”

Both shook their heads.

Tara gasped. “What happened to Willow? She was with me in the library!”

Buffy went cold with a fresh wave of panic, but Giles said, “Ethan told me he put her under the sleep spell when he took you. She should be asleep in one of the storage closets.”

“Ok,” Buffy counted off on her fingers. “Somebody needs to let Will out of the closet, you two need to finish getting patched up, and we need to clean up this stuff,” she gestured around at the majority of the Magic Box’s stock which was scattered across the store.

“Need to get rid of the body,” Spike drawled. “’Less you’re planning to leave it here for dramatic effect.”

“Right,” Buffy nodded at him. She was proud of the steadiness of her voice. She had been thrown for a few minutes, but now it was business as usual. The moment of weirdness between she and Spike had passed, and she had that little bit of herself that was way too interested in the vampire was back under control.

There was a screech of tires from outside and almost immediately Xander, Willow, and Anya, armed with a fairly impressive assortment of crosses, stakes, and spell components, poured in through the smashed door of the Magic Box. They staggered to a brief halt at the sight of Ethan’s dead body, but then their eyes locked on Spike.

“You!” Willow shouted. “You better not have hurt Tara! Or Buffy! Or Giles!”

“I’m ok…” Tara began.

Anya interrupted her. “You should be glad I don’t have my demon powers,” she snapped. “Willow, turn him into a roach. We can all step on him.”

“Please calm down…” Giles said.

Xander broke in. “You always have great ideas, honey. Go for it, Will.”

Willow reached into a small bag at her waist and began to chant. Spike pushed off the wall, morphing into vampire face. “No one’s turning me into anything,” he snarled, starting for the group of Scoobies.

“STOP IT!” Buffy threw herself between Spike and the group, one hand on his chest and the other on Willow’s wrist. Everyone ground to a halt.

“Stop chanting,” she told Willow “Put down the crosses and stuff.” She turned to Spike, “Stop threatening them. De-vamp. That’s not helping anything.”

Frowning, Willow pulled her hand out of the pouch and moved around Buffy to go to Tara. “Are you ok?” she murmured to her lover, smoothing back Tara’s hair. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Tara hugged her. “It wasn’t him,” she whispered back. “Wait. Listen.”

Xander and Anya still gripped their weapons, looking suspicious.

“It’s ok,” Buffy said. “Really.” Without looking behind her she kicked backwards, catching Spike in the shin. “De-vamp, I said.”

“Ow,” he muttered, but Slayer sense told her that Spike had shifted to human, and he stepped back. “Yeah,” he said. “I wasn’t working with the bloke.”

“He’s right,” Giles confirmed. “I saw the vampire who was working with Ethan, and it wasn’t Spike. As a matter of fact, Spike…uh…rescued me.”

Xander and Anya looked at each other, looked around the shambles of the Magic Box, and said in unison, “What’s going on?”

Buffy felt her face turn red. Having everyone, including Spike, hear about the prophecy was going to be embarrassing to say the very least. But there was no help for it. They were all involved and it wasn’t fair to keep them in the dark.

No one said she had to be the one doing the illuminating, however. Buffy retreated to the edge of the research table, which was miraculously still standing, and perched on the corner.

“Giles,” she said tiredly. “You tell it."

  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The Watcher did a good job of telling the story, Spike thought. Clear, calm, and impersonal. It could have been about anybody, rather than about his beloved Slayer and a creature he hated.   
Although he had gotten the gist of the story from Mattie, he paid careful attention to the additional detail Giles supplied, particularly the wording of the prophecy. It was interesting, but the whole bit about having his darkness illuminated left him cold. He liked his darkness just the way it was, thanks.

For the most part, Spike kept his eyes on Giles, but he felt the glances of the Scoobies. None of them would have been happy about a prophecy that linked Buffy to any vampire, except possibly Angel, but having the vampire be Spike seemed to add insult to injury.

Occasionally, he sneaked a look at Buffy, but she kept her head down and seemed fascinated by the wood grain of the research table where she sat. He could feel the extra blood that had rushed to her face in a permanent blush and would have teased her about it except that he was absolutely terrified.

The terror didn’t result from the prophecy, or not entirely. While it was uncomfortable knowing that such a thing existed, the prophecy didn’t exactly provide names and addresses. It was simple enough to decide it referred to someone else.

No, Spike was frightened of what he had felt when Buffy had inadvertently smiled down at him. The exquisite pain had almost made him look down to see if she’d run the stake through his heart. For a few moments, nothing had existed for him except her smile.

Even that wasn’t the main thing. He knew that her smile hadn’t really been intended for him. But the quick indrawn breath, increased heartbeat, and flare of her eyes into huge black pools had been for him. She had felt something too, and the knowledge made him want to run and hide.

It was one thing to say he loved the Slayer, or to even actually love the Slayer when that love was a hopeless never-to-be-returned sort of thing. As Spike had told Riley, he knew he didn’t have any real chance with Buffy. It was a yearning, a fantasy, and on some level, that was ok because it meant that no real effort was required of him. He could go on as he always had, William the Bloody, vampire extraordinaire, especially now that the chip was out of his head. But if it was real, if Buffy could come to return his love, that meant change beyond what he could grasp.

The sudden silence in the room made him realize that Giles had finished the explanation. Buffy had looked up from her rapt contemplation of the table and was watching the others while chewing on her lower lip. The Watcher wasn’t looking terribly happy as he removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. The Scoobies weren’t overjoyed either. Tara looked faintly worried, but Willow, Anya, and Xander were all scowling.

Xander finally broke the silence. “What you’re saying is that somebody thinks Buffy and Spike might get together, which would be bad for that particular somebody, and that’s why they’re doing this?”

“Essentially,” Giles answered.

“But that’s just what someone thinks, right, Buffy?” He crossed the room to stand in front of the Slayer, who straightened in response. “I mean, that’s just some stupid idea somebody got because Spike hung around a lot, isn’t it? Not something that would really happen. Because, this is Spike. Who spent a lot of time attacking us. Some of us more recently than others.”

Xander's words and voice were angry, but there was pain behind them. The pain of someone who anticipated betrayal. Spike saw Buffy swallow hard.

“I’m sorry,” he cut across her before she could to start to answer.

Every eye in the room fastened on the vampire. Spike rather desperately wished for another cigarette, or anything to do with his hands, but he continued to lean indolently on the wall and raised an eyebrow.

“What can I say?” he asked. “I shouldn’t have done it. I knew the bloody mage was up to something when he removed my chip, but I was too sodding happy to care. So, I’m sorry for attacking you. You too,” he nodded to Willow who struggled to form a faint smile.

“Sorry?” Xander turned away from Buffy and walked toward him. “You’re never sorry. You killed people for 120 years, and you’re sorry for attacking me and Willow?”

Spike shrugged. “I did what I did. Weeping and wailing won’t change it now. But for what it’s worth, I am sorry for what I did to you.”

Xander folded his arms and glared. “Not good enough.”

“Xander,” Willow whispered.

“No. It’s not good enough. You can’t wipe everything out by one ‘sorry’. It’s too easy.”

“Fine.” Spike moved away from the bookcase to where they had dropped their weapons. “How’s this, then?”

Not letting himself think about how bad it was going to hurt, he caught up one of the discarded crosses.

Agony shot through him, searing through his hand. Compared to this, the chip had been about as bad as a stubbed toe. A chorus of yells came from the others as the smell of his burning flesh filled the shop.

Buffy leaped off the table and reached his side in one move. “Stop that!” she said sharply, wrapping her fingers around his wrist and trying to break his hold.

“Not…until…they…say…” he gritted.

“Put it down!” Willow cried.

“Yeah,” Xander said shakily, “Geez, I accept your apology. Put it down already.”

Spike dropped the cross. Despite a strong desire to curl up in a ball around his mutilated hand and cry, he yanked his arm from Buffy’s grasp and stood straight. Everyone was staring at him white-faced except Anya who just looked mildly interested.

“If we’re all square now,” he growled. “I think I’ll be on my way. I’ll see you lot later.”

“You need to have your hand seen to,” Giles said faintly.

“I’ll manage.” He didn’t look at Buffy as he turned his back on them and strode from the shop.

  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Spike definitely knew how to break up a party, Buffy thought as she let herself quietly into her house. No one had said much after his grand exit, just put up a temporary door for the Magic Box from the plywood Giles stored in the back for these occasions, and gone their separate ways.   
Giles said he could dispose of Ethan’s body, and Buffy decided she just didn’t want to know any details. What with one thing and another, the evening had added up to being fairly intense, and everyone was tired.

I sure am, anyway. Buffy entered her bedroom, yawning hugely. She had patrolled very late every night since the killings started, hoping the catch Ethan and Spike. Since she had released some of the guilt, she was sleeping slightly better once she actually got in bed, but still not deeply, and only for a few hours at a time.

Well, Ethan and the non-Spike were dead now, and even if someone was behind them, she should have a few quiet nights while whoever-it-was regrouped. Buffy eyed her bed fondly. I can use them too.

She stripped hastily, snuggled down under the covers, and closed her eyes.

I hope Spike’s ok.

Her eyes popped open. Stop it, she told herself. Spike managed for more than 100 years without you. He’s a big bad vampire. He’ll be fine.

Buffy closed her eyes again firmly.

His hand was in bad shape.

She sat up and punched the pillow as if it were responsible for her thoughts.

Like Spike hasn’t been injured before. I’ve probably hurt him worse then that burn. Giles offered to fix his hand, and probably would have given him somewhere to sleep, but he got all stubborn about everything. Besides, even if I wanted to do something, I don’t even know where he is. And I’m not going back out to look for him.

She flopped back down, having settled that once and for all.

He’s in his old crypt.

“Damnit,” Buffy whispered. She knew where Spike was with the same certainty she had known Giles was dying. She didn’t want a link like this between herself and a vampire. Any vampire. Particularly this vampire.

Well, if he was in the crypt, then he was safe and would be fine until tomorrow, so she could stop worrying about him.

Except his hand had been badly burned, and the crypt didn’t have anything in it other than the tomb, because she had removed and broken or burned everything in the place.

Buffy groaned, but it was no use. Somehow, Spike had gotten on the Official List of People Buffy had to Worry About, and she wasn’t going to be able to sleep until she knew he was ok. Wearily, she dragged herself out of bed and grabbed for her clothes.

  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“You have a sudden need to camp?”   
Buffy grimaced and turned to see Dawn standing on the basement stairs. She’d been trying to be quiet, but it was apparently one of the powers of the Key to turn up in places where she really wasn’t wanted.

“I need a sleeping bag,” hoping faintly that her sister would take the statement at face value.

No such luck. “Now? Why?”

She was going to have to explain sometime. “I need it for Spike.”

Dawn sat down and wrapped her arms around her knees. “I thought you wanted to kill Spike. Are you going to smother him? Are you going to zip him up in the sleeping bag and let the sun slowly burn his head off? Because that would be gross.” She paused. “Can I watch?”

“Dawn!” Buffy was horrified. “That’s awful! I would never do something like that!” She turned away and fiddled with the camping gear. “I was wrong about Spike. The wizard, Ethan, was trying to make us think Spike was helping him, but he wasn’t.”

Dawn brightened, having heard the three magic words. “You were wrong?”

“Yes, I was wrong. Completely and utterly wrong. Enjoy.”

“I will,” Dawn smiled. “A lot. So, do we like Spike again?”

“I don’t know that ‘like’ is the right word,” I don’t know what the right word is, Buffy added silently. But I’m pretty sure ‘like’ isn’t it. Aloud, she continued, “We aren’t actively trying to kill Spike at the moment.”

“It's getting hard to keep track of this. We need one of those magnets like you put on dishwashers,” Dawn said thoughtfully. “You know, the ones that say ‘Clean’ or ‘Dirty’? We could have ‘Hate Spike’ and ‘Don’t hate Spike’.”

“Go to bed, Dawn,” Buffy glared.

“Ok, ok.” She started up the stairs, then looked at the bag Buffy had dragged out without looking at what she was doing. “Hey, you probably shouldn’t take your old one. I don’t think he’d like the pink bunnies.”

  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
God, his hand hurt.   
It had taken everything he had to make it from the Magic Box to the crypt. He hadn’t even attempted driving, just grabbed two bottles, Scotch and blood, out of the boot and staggered for shelter.

Spike slid to the floor of the crypt and leaned against the side of the tomb, shaking. He used his good hand and his teeth to uncork one of the bottles, it didn’t matter which, and took a swig.

Scotch. Good, that would dull the pain faster, although injuries caused by religious implements hurt more than others and took longer to heal. He took another swallow and hoped the bottle had enough. He’d held the cross for a good twenty seconds, and the flesh had seared almost to the bone.

Waves of nausea coursed through Spike, and he closed his eyes against the spinning of the room. He was cold too, colder than usual, as chills took him and made his teeth chatter. He got the blood opened and drank from that as well, letting it warm him slightly.

If this didn’t ease up, he was going to cut his fucking hand off. It would probably hurt less.

He drifted for a time on a haze of alcohol, pain, and sickness until he was jerked back to reality by a disgusted voice.

“What kind of fool trick was that? What would you have done if they hadn't said you could drop the cross? Let your hand burn off?"

Painfully, Spike opened his eyes to see Mattie scowling down at him, hands on her non-existent hips.

“Nice bedside manner, Love,” he muttered. “Thanks.”

“Huh.” She squatted down beside him. “You’re only feelin’ this bad ‘cause of your pride. The Watcher would’a fixed your hand and give you a bed. What are you doin’ here?”

“Making a point.”

“The point that you ain’t all that bright? I’m pretty sure they know that. I didn't think you were all broody and sulky like that other one.”

He glared at her in utter outrage. “I AM NOTHING LIKE ANGEL! The point is that I was sorry for what I did to them! All right? Look, if you’re just going to scold, how about leaving?”

Something like a breeze ruffled his hair, and he opened his eyes to see that her pointed face had softened. “And are you sorry?”

“S’pose so,” he muttered, looking away again. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure why he had held the cross. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“If it helps, you and Buffy already did better then me and Jarrod. Try and not be stupid and you might go

far.”

“I’ll make a real effort. Aah!” He had shifted unintentionally and the movement brought a fresh wave of pain. “Can you do anything about this?”

“Not a thing,” her voice wasn’t unkind. “I can help out with you not bein’ stupid though. Already have.”

“Really?” he sneered. “How, pray tell?”

Her grin was sheer evil as she began to fade. “If you’d scented Buffy coming, you’d a run off, pain or no. But talkin’ to me kept you from knowin. And now, she’s right outside your door.”

Spike’s head came up, senses extending in panic. Mattie was right. Buffy was at the crypt porch. She was right too, that he would left at the Slayer’s approach. He didn’t want her to see him in this weakened state, especially as confused as he was about the events of the evening. No, he needed time to regroup, time to become his old swaggering self again. At the moment, he felt more Wiliam than Spike, something that hadn't happened in over a century.

There was a pounding on the door. “Spike?” Buffy called.

At least she didn’t kick it in. Progress of a sort. He held quiet and still. Maybe she would leave.

"Spike, I know you're in there."A few moments later, the door swung open with a familiar crash and Buffy was frowning at him with the same expression Mattie had worn. “What the hell is the matter with you? Why didn’t you open the door?”

A strong wish that he could wave his hand and free himself from all women, particularly Slayers, both past and present, filled his heart.


	11. Chapter 11

Even through the fog induced by pain and alcohol, Spike could see her standing in the doorway of the crypt scowling at him, a large bundle slung over her shoulder. Her hands-on-hips posture was eerily similar to Mattie’s. It must be one of those things that Slayers acquired along with strength, fast healing, and a bloody air of self-righteousness, or maybe they just imitated their Watchers.   
He would face her standing at least, not huddled at her feet like someone caught robbing the cookie jar.

“Ever think I didn’t answer because I didn’t want to talk to you, Slayer?” Spike snapped as he lurched upright. He staggered at a fresh onslaught of dizziness, and without thinking, caught at the edge of the tomb to steady himself.

With his burned hand.

The sensation that went thorough him took him somewhere beyond excruciating, and he thought he would literally die from the pain. He pitched forward and would have fallen, except there was an arm suddenly around his waist and he found himself collapsed against Buffy's shoulder.

He hung there a few moments, unable to do anything other than shudder, but eventually the fire in his hand receded slightly, just enough for embarrassment to start creeping in.

Spike had entertained quite a few fantasies that involved similar situations, except then it had been Buffy who was injured while he did the carrying off. They had also featured Buffy saying things like, “Oh, Spike! How could I have been so wrong about you?” Or, “Take me now,” or anything, really, other than, “Stupid vampire,” which was what she was growling in his ear at the moment.

She shifted him off of her body and propped him against the wall. “Stay,” she said firmly.

He locked his knees and braced against the wall of the crypt, trying to regain his equilibrium as he listened to Buffy move around, busying herself with something that rustled. Then, her hand tugged on his uninjured arm to guide him to the edge of the tomb.

“Sit.”

Spike was in no shape to disobey her and sank to the top of the tomb, which was now padded with some sort of fabric.

Buffy pushed at his shoulder. “Down.”

“Sure you don’t want me to fetch a stick? Or maybe play dead? I’m good at that last.”

“Either one would be smarter than what you’re doing right now. And by the way, if you fall over again, I am so not catching you.”

He didn’t think he would fall again, as long as nothing else happened to his hand, but he couldn’t be sure. And lying down did seem like a good idea at the moment, even if it was at Buffy’s suggestion.

Gingerly, Spike lay back and realized that the entire surface of the tomb had been covered by the thick fabric, making it much more comfortable than the bare stone surface would have been.

“What’s all this?” he asked faintly.

“It’s a sleeping bag.” Buffy’s voice was slightly muffled, and Spike opened his eyes and pushed himself up on one elbow to watch her. She was kneeling on the floor, turned away from him as she removed several items from the bundle she had carried. Light from a small, battery-powered lantern abruptly dispelled the darkness of the crypt.

He could see her clearly in the dim light as she turned back to him, her expression a mixture of defiance and embarrassment, and he felt the heat of her blood as it rushed to her face.

“I knew you probably didn’t have a lot of stuff,” Buffy said in voice that was matter-of-fact despite the way she refused to look at him. “And that your hand was in bad shape, so I….” The words died away, and she waved her hand vaguely to complete the statement.

Spike could have said any one of several things, such as ‘your kindness makes the pain bearable,’ or ‘I hope this signifies the beginning of a new friendship between us’. Even a heartfelt ‘thank you’ would have sufficed. And any of those statements would have been true - he was honestly touched at what she had done. However, what came out of his mouth was “You still owe me a television, Slayer. Not some bit of junk either. That was a 19-inch color set you took out in your tantrum.”

Buffy’s eyes suddenly blazed. “I can’t believe I wasted one second worrying about you, Spike,” she hissed. She stalked to the edge of the tomb, clunked the lantern down on the edge, and shoved him back, less gently than before. “Let me see your hand.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said sullenly, wishing she would go away. He didn't like feeling touched, or grateful, or any of the other unfamiliar things he was feeling. “You don’t have to salve your conscience. Not that you shouldn’t want to, going about and thinking I was working with that wanker.”

“My conscience doesn’t need any salving,” she said through her teeth. “I had plenty of reasons to think that you were working with Ethan. I’m only here now because you saved Giles. I want to finish with you, so I can go home and get some sleep, and you can stay out of my way from now on!”

She took his wrist in a firm grip. With bad grace, Spike closed his eyes and let her, afraid to risk further injury by pulling away. He was tense with the anticipation of further pain, but for all her harsh words, she was careful not to jar his hand as she moved it into the spill of light from the lantern.

There was a moment of quiet, and then Buffy said “Jeez, Spike,” in a slightly sick voice.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Buffy had to force back nausea as she examined the extent of Spike’s injury. The skin at the edge of the burn was blackened and peeling. White blisters stood out in sharp contrast to the red, angry flesh. She was amazed he’d made back to the crypt without passing out. Chronic irritant or not, there was no way she could leave him like this.

Buffy sat on the edge of the tomb next to Spike and carefully rested his hand in her lap. The fact that he didn’t make any snide remark was a strong indication of how much pain he was in.

Feeling as if she were offering aspirin to someone who had just been hit by a bus, she began to coat the wound with the antiseptic burn spray she had bought.

Spike went rigid, “Shit!” he snarled, eyes flaring yellow and his other hand bunching into a fist.

“Easy,” Buffy said gently. “This should help in a minute.” She put a slightly teasing note into her voice. “Besides, if you try to fight, I’ll just kick your ass even more than usual.”

“Not…on…your…best…day…Slayer,” Spike managed in return, but he relaxed a little, and his eyes faded back to blue before they closed again.

Buffy thought of trying the aloe vera ointment she had bought, but there wasn't a way to get it into the wound without incapacitating him from the pain again. Unable to think of anything else to do for him, she sat quietly, trying not to look at the mutilated hand in her lap.

Spike stirred restlessly. “Talk or something, would you? Takes my mind off.”

“Not much to talk about. I’ve been hunting Ethan and what I thought was you for the past month,” Buffy shrugged. “That’s it.” Curious, she added, “Where were you, anyway?”

Even through the pain-clenched features, she thought Spike looked uncomfortable. “I was around.”

“Not,” she snorted. “I took this town apart. No rock unturned, no sewer unvisited. My hair may never be the same. I saw every icky thing Sunnydale has to offer. We have a serious roach problem. But I didn’t see you, and that means you weren’t here. You weren’t holed up with Ethan, so where were you?”

Spike was quiet for so long, that Buffy thought he’d fainted again, but he finally said reluctantly, “I was in New Orleans.”

“New Orleans? Jazz and little doughnut things and topless parade women New Orleans?”

“Wrong time of the year for topless parade women, but, yeah, that New Orleans. Lots of vampires there. If you ever kill off all the Sunnydale undead and need to keep busy, you can head South.”

She looked away into the darkness of the crypt. “You left the night you got the chip out?”

“The next day.”

“And you’ve been there all this time?”

“Yeah.”

Buffy fell silent. A question clogged the back of her throat, a question she needed to ask, but she was afraid. The asking of that question, the fact that she had to ask it, would change so many things. And what would his answer be?

“Look at me.”

Reluctantly, she turned her head to meet blue eyes regarding her steadily.

“Say it, Slayer.”

“You already know what I need to say,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, I do, but you need to say it anyway.”

“All right.” Buffy made her voice calm and uninflected. “Have you Hunted since you got the chip out?”

“Twice,” Spike said flatly.

She reached frantically for her power, letting the coolness of the Slayer wrap around the sharp pain in her heart. What had she expected? Spike was a vampire. Even if he left her and her friends alone, he would see nothing wrong with continuing to kill those who meant nothing to him.

“Once,” Spike continued, his eyes yellowing again in response to the presence of the Slayer, “Was the night I was freed. I pulled two blokes off some girl. They’d ripped her shirt open and were tearing her knickers off when I got there. I threw one to Harmony, took the other for myself. The girl ran home to Mum.”

“I heard about that,” Buffy said thinly. “She said two monsters came out of the bushes and ate the men who were attacking her.”

“There you are then. The second time, I was in New Orleans, and a bunch of football types objected to my hairstyle and nail polish. They jumped me in an alley, five to one, with two baseball bats and a switchblade.”

She frowned, troubled. It sounded all right on the surface, but the fundamental nature of the Slayer rebelled at the thought of vampires killing humans, no matter how repulsive the humans in question might be.

Spike’s voice hardened. “I’m going to defend myself, Buffy. I went too long with that sodding chip making me unable to raise a hand to stop a human’s blow. Now, maybe that’s only fair because I didn’t exactly give humans a fair fight for a lot of years. Too bloody bad. I’m not going to be a target anymore. Not even to please you.”

“I don’t want you to stop Hunting to please me,” she said quietly. “I don’t want you to do anything just to please me. I’m not going to stop Slaying either.”

“I know.” Unexpectedly, Spike tugged at a lock of her hair with his good hand. “I can tell you this, though, and it’s not to please you. I won’t attack just to feed. I get along well enough on the butcher’s bilge.”

She looked at him sharply, trying to determine if he were lying. Spike was not known for being trustworthy, but something about the way he met her eyes made her think he might be telling the truth.

After enduring her scrutiny for a few moments, he sighed and said, “I’d cross my heart, but it would hurt like hell.”

Buffy’s mouth twitched. “You’ve done enough with the crosses tonight.” More soberly she asked, “Why the big change? What happened to humans being Happy Meals with legs?”

“Hung out with you lot too long, didn’t I? You’ve corrupted me.”

Spike’s tone was light, but Buffy sensed that he was telling the literal truth. Being around her and the others had changed him. It was sort of flattering, but also scary to think she could have that much influence.

To cover her discomfort, she asked, “If you were living the good life in New Orleans, how’d you end up back here in that famous nick of time?”

It was Spike’s turn to have his eyes skitter away. At last, he muttered something. She thought she understood what he said, but she had to be wrong because what she thought he said didn't make any sense.

"Excuse me?"

Spike sighed. “I said I had a vision.”

“A vision? You?”

“Yes, a vision, me,” he snorted. “What, I can’t have visions? Just because you’re the Slayer, you think you’ve got the market cornered on visions….”

“Ok, Ok,” Buffy interrupted what sounded like the start of a long rant. “Calm down. You’re Vision Guy. A vision of what, exactly?”

“Another Slayer,” Spike said after an even longer pause. “Little bit of a thing named Mattie. Bad hair, big knife.”

Buffy’s jaw dropped. “You saw Mathilda Sawyer? The spirit-killer?”

“Don’t know about all those names. She just said Mattie. But yeah, her. She told me about what was going on here and a bit about the prophecy.”

“So you came back,” Buffy finished softly.

“Yeah. Couldn’t have some wanker going about stealing my rep.”

They were getting back into dangerous territory, Buffy thought. Despite his excuse for returning, Spike’s eyes had done that softening thing again, and she knew that he had come back because of her. And he knew that she knew. And…whatever.

I should stop staring at him and just leave, she thought. Her insides felt like they were turning to mush, and it was making the Slayer part of her very nervous. It was actually making the Buffy part of her nervous too. A helpful, voluntarily-non-human-eating Spike wasn’t something she felt capable of dealing with.

But there was one thing she had to tell him. She owed him that. “I’m glad,” Buffy said through a tight throat, “That it wasn’t you working with Ethan.”

“I’m glad I got here in time,” his voice sounded a little strangled too.

The moment stretched between them like a high-tension wire, then was shattered by Spike frowning in sudden surprise. “I didn’t even notice….That’s good stuff you used on my hand, Slayer. Doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Oh. Good.” She looked down at his hand, which she’d absently held in her lap the entire time they’d been talking, and found herself looking at pale, unmarked flesh.

Unbelieving, she brushed her fingers lightly over his palm. Spike jumped, then sat up at the lack of pain to stare at his uninjured hand.

Buffy's nervousness made an abrupt transition to panic. She dropped Spike’s hand as if she’d discovered that she was holding a large, poisonous snake, and sprang off the tomb.

“Wow,” she babbled. “That did work pretty well, didn’t it? I’ll have to write the company. Tomorrow. I’ll do it tomorrow, after I leave here. Which I’m doing right now, not tomorrow.”

She turned to flee, but Spike moved with a vampire’s swiftness to catch her arm and spin her back to face him.

“The Slayer shall take the hand of her Adversary,” he whispered, his eyes searching her face. Buffy shivered. “It's true, you know. You feel something for me too, or you couldn’t have done this.”

“I, you, we,” she sputtered, her brain seeming to have lodged firmly in first gear, or possibly in reverse. Automatically, she reached for her center, but the Slayer had apparently given up on the entire situation and gone off to have a drink. Buffy wished she could join her.

Very gently, Spike brushed her hair back with his free hand. Buffy drew in a long, shuddering breath, leaning into the touch without thinking. It was a gesture she used with Dawn, but the feelings this particular touch caused were far from sisterly.

She was moving forward even as his fingers slid around the back of her skull.

His mouth had always looked hard, either tight with anger or curled in a sneer, but his lips were soft against hers. If she had ever thought about it, Buffy would have imagined Spike's embrace would be rough as well, but his hands were gentle, softly caressing her hair and face. She could feel him holding back, controlling his power.

Cautiously, Buffy moved closer and stroked Spike’s shoulders, the kiss deepening as his hands slid down her back to gather her to him. This felt…incredible…but also extremely strange. They’d spent the last three years as mortal enemies. Hell, she’d tried her best to kill him earlier that evening. Now his tongue was in her mouth. And she was enjoying it. Definitely strange.

When he felt her tense, Spike released her and sat back on the tomb his eyes flickering amber and blue. Buffy stood still trying to get her breathing to even out instead of hitching around in her chest.

She also tried rather desperately to think of something to say, but most of her brain was still not cooperating, and the only part that was functioning was making a very lewd suggestion that involved the sleeping bag.

“Goodnight, Spike,” she managed.

He nodded, looking slightly freaked out himself. “Goodnight, Slayer.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Even having denizens of Hell for clients didn’t make staff meetings any more interesting. However, Lindsey forced himself to pay strict attention to every word spoken. Since this was the end of a quarter, Mr. Jones, one of the Senior Partners, was conducting the meeting, and it wouldn’t do to miss anything. Lilah would like nothing better than to show him up and move to sole head of their division.

He didn’t really care one way or the other. He hadn’t cared about much of anything since Darla left. Before she left, he’d only cared about her. Now, there was nothing.

But thinking about projections and deadlines beat thinking about that nothing, so that was what he did.

“To continue,” said Jones, “We must turn our attention to the Acquisitions department. Recently, there have been rumors regarding the Stone of…aaarrggghhh.”

Jones’ face began to turn purple, and the skin on either side of his throat pressed in, showing the indentations of invisible fingers.

There were gasps and muffled shrieks as almost everyone sent their chairs rolling rapidly back from the table. Lindsey alone remained in his place and reached for the silent alarm button.

“No,” Jones wheezed. “This isn't an outside attack. It’s one of the Board Members.”

Lindsey pulled his hand back slowly. Jones’ face was no more discolored than it had been a second ago. He wasn’t being killed, at least not yet, just held in a very uncomfortable position.

“You have failed.” The icy voice filled the room.

“How, Lord?” Jones gasped.

“The Slayer did not destroy the Adversary. She has taken his hand. An alliance has formed.”

Lindsey’s ears pricked up. Faith was still in jail with limited possibilities to form alliances with anyone. That left only Buffy, the Slayer Angel loved. Involuntarily, he glanced down at his recently replaced artificial hand.

“We'll fix it.” he asked calmly. Every human eye in the room fixed on him, and he felt the weight of another's Attention. "Just tell us what you want us to do."

“Kill the Adversary. Do not fail again.”

“No, Lord,” Jones was flung back into his chair. Even though they never saw him, the departure of the Board Member was palpable. The atmosphere lightened. The sun shown again in the windows.

“Meeting adjourned,” Jones said as calmly as he could. He pointed at Lindsey. “You stay.”

The others departed, with Lilah casting him a dark look. Lindsey smiled back at her. You've got to take your opportunities where you find them, he thought. Next time, do something contstructive instead of screaming like a girl.

When the room was empty, Jones stood, waving Lindsey back into his chair. He went over to a small cabinet and withdrew a bottle of Scotch and two glasses. He poured and passed one to Lindsey.

“That was quite an interesting encounter."

"Yes, Sir." Lindsey waited until Jones drank, then took a sip. The smoky taste was bitter on his tongue.

"Still, you displayed a cool head,” Jones said.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“I’m going to have to handle this…situation…myself." Jones sighed. "I admit, I made a mistake. Some things it doesn’t do to delegate. I’ll be taking a trip downstate. Interested? I could use an extra cool head.” He smiled. “Could mean a promotion. Bring you to favorable attention of the higher-ups.”

It could be argued that the higher-ups’ attention, favorable or otherwise, was something to be avoided. Lindsey had lost his ambition to get ahead in Wolfram and Hart these days, so his interest in the attention was minimal at best. However, there were other things he wanted, and this assignment looked like a possible way to get them.

None of those thoughts were detectable in his voice. “Anything I can do to help, Sir,” he said blandly.

“Good. I have to wind a few things up here. We’ll leave in the morning.”

End Part 11.


	12. Chapter 12

Maybe I should just plan on never sleeping again, Buffy thought, as the sun began to lighten her windows.  
After returning from the crypt, she’d lain awake reliving every last detail of Spike’s kiss. As a reason for not sleeping, it definitely beat guilt-ridden visions of murdered children. However, it was still not sleeping.

Painfully, she rolled out of bed. A shower would help her wake up, especially if she used cold water. And given the nature of last night’s thoughts, a cold shower would be helpful for several reasons.

She was brushing her teeth, and still shivering a little from the last cold rinse, when a tap at the door heralded her sister.

“Privacy would be nice,” Buffy grumbled around her toothbrush.

“I just wanted to know how last night went,” Dawn said with injured innocence. “Or did you want me to ask you about it in front of Mom?”

Buffy glared at Dawn through the mirror. “It was fine.”

“Did Spike appreciate the sleeping bag?”

“I guess so.” Don’t even think about blushing, she mentally warned her reflection.

Dawn waited with an expert’s timing until Buffy had her mouth full to rinse. “Did you two get nasty?”

“Is that a yes?” she added innocently as water and toothpaste spattered mirror, sink, and walls.

At last, the Slayer got the toothpaste out of her nose and turned to glare. “No.” she said carefully. “It wasn’t a 'yes'. It was a 'none of your business and don’t ask me that again'.”

“So you didn’t. Probably why you’re so grumpy.”

Dawn dashed out the door as Buffy advanced, and she listened to her little sister giggle her way down the stairs. Great, she thought tiredly. The next time I see Spike, all I’ll be able to think about is ‘getting nasty’. Not that I wouldn't have thougth about it anyway, but maybe not in those exact words.

After cleaning up the bathroom, she headed downstairs. Dawn was sitting at the table looking so innocent that she almost sported a halo. Joyce was pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“Don’t you have school?” Buffy asked.

“Check the calendar, Chosen One. It’s Saturday.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.”

“What's wrong, Buffy? Didn’t you sleep well?” Dawn asked sweetly.

“Behave, girls.” Joyce interrupted Buffy’s growl. “Buffy, Dawn says you were wrong about Spike? That it was another vampire killing those people?”

“Right. He was killed last night, and Ethan’s…gone.” Some things her mother didn’t need to know about. Like dead human bodies.

“But he was the one who attacked Willow and Xander,” Joyce said.

“Yeah, he apologized for that. It’s pretty much straightened out.”

“Good,” her mother smiled. “I always sort of liked him.”

“Mom, the first time you met Spike, you hit him with an axe,” Buffy protested.

“True, but he’s one of those types that grows on you.”

“Like mold,” Dawn said helpfully.

Joyce gave her youngest daughter a mock glare. “You’ll have bring him over for dinner or something sometime,” she said to Buffy as she left the kitchen. “They’re getting to a really good part on Passions, and I don’t have anyone to share it with.”

Buffy rested her forehead on the kitchen table. My Mom wants to hang out with Spike. Not that this was any weirder than a prophecy about the Slayer joining with a vampire, or Spike coming back to help her, or her kissing him. But somehow it was the straw that broke the camel’s back of the strangeness of her life – which was seriously bizarre even compared to those of other Slayers. She found herself missing the comparatively simple days when all she had to worry about was killing the Master.

At least dating him wasn’t really an option, she thought, and began to giggle helplessly, her head still resting on the table.

“Are you all right?” After a few more minutes of uncontrolled laughter, Dawn touched Buffy’s shoulder. “Come on, cut that out.”

Buffy pulled herself together at the worry in her sister’s voice and sat up. “I’m ok. It just kind of hit me, you know?”

“Yeah,” Dawn agreed. “Remember when I found out I wasn’t really a person, but some kind of energy force, and Mom’s answer was soup? Now you know how I feel.” She looked away. “I won’t bug you anymore about Spike,” she muttered.

“That’s ok,” Buffy said. “You can if you want, but I get to bug you about Kevin.”

Color flooded Dawn’s face. “There’s nothing about Kevin to bug me about, dork!”

“Uh-huh,” Buffy grinned at her sister. “See ya.”

 

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When she reached the Magic Box, Buffy found Xander finishing hanging a new front door.

“You’re up early,” she observed.

“Didn’t get much sleep,” he said briefly.

“Oh,” Buffy answered in a small voice. She slipped in through the new door and sat on edge of the research table, chewing her lip as she watched her friend. She knew Xander had been hurt last night by the concept of she and Spike together. His crush on her was long over, but he still cared about her. He had liked Riley and grudgingly accepted Angel, but it was a good bet that Spike was not going to receive the Xander seal of approval.

Xander turned, saw her sad expression and gnawed lip, and sighed. He walked over to lean against the table next to her.

“I didn’t sleep because I was getting lectured by Willow about forgiveness, second chances, people’s ability to change, and lots of other stuff that I basically tuned out.”

Buffy gave a tiny smile. “She’s good at that.”

Xander nodded. “Then after she gave me the whole Wiccan ‘circle of life’ speech, she said if I didn’t tell you I was ok with you and Spike, she’d give me a noogie. She used to do that when we were kids. It wasn’t a fun time.”

“Ouch. Willow knows how to play hardball.” Buffy gave him a sideways look. “Noogies aside, are you ok? Are we ok?”

“I’m not going to be president of the Spike fan club, but I’ll admit he gives a heck of an apology last night. Nothing says ‘sorry’ like frying your hand.” He put an arm around her shoulders briefly. “So yeah, we’re ok.”

She leaned her head against his arm. “Thanks.”

“It’s not like I can say a lot anyway. You’re not exactly the only one dating a paid up member of the forces of darkness.”

“Anya’s human, now” Buffy pointed out.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t her choice,” Xander said. “And she likes to talk about the good old days when she could dissolve people.”

”Well, who **wouldn’t** miss that?” Buffy nudged him with her elbow. “She’s still better than the praying-mantis-teacher-lady or the Mummy Girl.”

“True. And, hey, Spike hasn’t tried to sacrifice you to a giant snake. Or has he?”

“Not yet,” Buffy said soberly, “But he hasn’t been back very long.”

They both started to snicker, then laugh, then howl. They had just started to calm down when Xander said, “It’s been an interesting five years, hasn’t it?” and set them both off again.

They were still laughing when the door of the Magic Box opened and Willow, Tara, Anya, and Giles entered.

“I still don’t understand why I had to help you with the translation before we could come to the shop,” Giles was complaining.

“That way I could get started with the component-gathering as soon as I got here,” Willow said chirpily. “Oh, look who’s here already! How is everybody this morning?”

She looked meaningufully at Xander, who pushed Buffy in front of him. “Help,” he whispered. “My head’s sore already.”

“I’ll protect you,” Buffy whispered back. “We’re fine,” she added to Willow. "Xander's been very understanding."

Anya shrugged and crossed to stand behind the counter. “Willow wanted Buffy and Xander to have time to talk in private,” she explained to Giles as she began to count out the cash register.

“Honey,” Xander said patiently, “If it was ok to just tell Giles about it, we wouldn't have gone to all that trouble to delay him.”

“Sixteen, seventeen…but you’ve already talked to her,” Anya pointed out, “So it doesn’t matter.”

Giles cut over the conversation. “Be that as it may, we’re all here now, and I can tell you that I spent the most of the remainder of last night examining Ethan’s corpse.”

Knowing Buffy and company, he paused to give everyone time to say something along the lines of “Oh, yuck,” then continued.“There was nothing on his person to indicate with whom he was working. However, I believe that it will be possible to track him to wherever he stayed while the killings were occurring. The most powerful teleportation spell does not cover more than twenty miles. Willow and Tara’s dowsing spell should be adequate to provide a general area. From there, I can pinpoint the location more precisely.”

“What if the shields are still in place?” Tara asked timidly. “I mean, we’ll do the spell, but is there any way to take them down first?”

“There’s no way to remove the shields at a distance,” Giles answered. “However, you and Willow won’t be the ones in the circle.” He looked at Buffy. “You and Spike will perform the dowsing.”

She looked at him in disbelief. “Me and Spike? How? I don’t know anything about magic, and if he did, I would have been a frog a long time ago.”

“I will read the spell,” he explained. “You and Spike will be in the circle with the map and crystal. The two of you stand at the heart of the Prophecy, which should be enough to protect you. In any case, you are both strong enough to avoid being injured by the shield.”

“Ok,” Buffy said slowly. What Giles said made sense, but even after last night, or especially after last night, she was uncomfortable at the prospect of working with Spike. They had spent years trying to kill each other, and now it was all changed. Now they were allies or more, joined by prophecy.

She shook her head to clear it. Her discomfort didn’t really matter, she supposed. It never had in the past. She was the Slayer, and this was her job.

“Did you want to do the spell now?” she asked. “We could probably get him over here.”

Giles stood as the door of the Magic Box opened to admit a customer. “No, we’ll do it this evening after closing. At the moment, you need to train, and the rest of you,” he eyed the Scoobies, “Need to do whatever it is you do.”

 

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It had been a long time since she had simply trained. For the past month, she had spent all of her time either in class or hunting Spike and Ethan, deep in the grip of the Slayer, every nerve keyed high. Punching something while knowing it couldn’t really kill you was relaxing.

Giles kept Buffy to a hard pace, but most difficult of all were the questions he kept tossing into the session.

“Right cross, left cross, drop kick…have you and Xander resolved things?”

“I think so.”

Light caught the blade of the sword: “Overhead, side, upper cut….what are your feelings for Spike now?”

“Confused, freaked out, I don’t know. He said he’d stop attacking to feed. That’s a plus.”

“And spin, stab behind you…what are his for you?”

“I think he cares.”

“Ten more chin-ups, there’s a girl. You are under no obligation to return any affection, you know. I don’t care if he’s reformed. I don’t care if he’s the reincarnation of St. Francis of Assizi…”

“Who?”

“A very good person. In any case, the Prophecy is clear that any feelings must come from the heart without being forced or invented.”

Buffy stopped, winded and smiled at him. “Giles, I won't let anyone force me into anything. And if I ever figure out what’s going on, I’ll let you know.”

He smiled back. “I’ll be here.”

Her eyes abruptly brightened with tears, and she tightened her lips to keep them from trembling. “You almost weren’t. You challenged Ethan early, didn’t you?”

Giles sighed. “You’re getting to be far too noticing. Yes, I challenged him. You killed one creature you cared for. I didn’t want you to have to do that again.”

“It would’ve been worse if I had to kill him after you died,” Buffy said shakily.

“I know. Emotion got the better of me. Travers would swoon from sheer horror.”

As he hoped, that brought a smile.

While she dried the sweat from her face and neck, Giles opened a thermos and filled the lid. “Here,” he said casually. “Drink this.”

Buffy eyed the liquid suspiciously. “It’s all herby.”

“The herbs are restorative. Drink it.”

Obediently, put it to her lips, “Can’t be any worse than Gatorade.”

Fifteen minutes later, Giles emerged from the training room, closing the door carefully.

“Is she asleep?” Anya asked without pausing in her stock rearranging.

Giles was surprised. “How did you know I gave her a sleeping potion?”

“The right herbs were gone, and I didn’t sell them. And it made sense. She’s got eye circles down to her chin.”

You should be on the Watcher’s Council, Giles thought. You’d terrify them. They wouldn’t dare put a foot wrong.

“You’re correct," he said aloud. "I gave her a potion. If the world is significantly threatened in the next six hours, we’ll have to deal with it on our own. Or you will in any case,” he added, shrugging into his coat. “I have to go out.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spike caught the scent as Giles approached the crypt and smiled. Wondered how long it would take him to get here.

He’d caught the Watcher, well, **watching** him last night, during the story-telling portion of the evening, and the expression had been familiar from his William days. Not that the poor sap had ever had the stones to approach some fierce Papa for his daughter’s hand, but he’d seen the expressions on the men’s faces at dances and other functions. Weighing, sizing up, determining the young chaps’ suitability for their innocent maidens. No, he wasn’t surprised that Giles was here to ask about his intentions.

Not that he was terribly sure what those intentions were at the moment. Most of his fantasies about Buffy had involved force of some sort. Not rape, but violence as one sort of fighting segued into another. Sweating and struggling, pounding at each other, nails and teeth. But after last night, he was unable to imagine touching her any way other than gently. He wanted to make her smile, cradle her in his arms, spend the rest of his immortal life guarding her sleep.

He came back to the real world as Giles paused outside the crypt door and then finally knocked grudgingly.

“Come in,” Spike called, amused. It must be killing them to not kick it in anymore, but he had moved up in the world it seemed.

Giles entered, making up for the knock with the severity of his expression. Spike remained slouched on the tomb, leaning against the rolled-up sleeping bag.

“I came to see if you would be willing to provide some assistance this evening,” Giles said stiffly. “I believe a tracking spell can be performed to determine where Ethan was hiding while committing the murders. Willow and Tara were injured while attempting to perform a similar spell in the past; however, you and Buffy should be able to do so safely.”

It was on the tip of Spike’s tongue to gloat over Giles having to ask for Spike’s help, but something stopped him.

Last night had driven the realization home: he was operating in reality, now, and. in that reality, Buffy needed and loved Giles, and tension between the Watcher and himself would hurt her.

“All right,” he said mildly, “I’ll come ‘round about 10 or so.”

Surprise flickered across Giles’ face, then his eyes landed on Spike’s formerly injured hand. “You seem to have got over that rapidly enough,” Giles said neutrally.

Spike slid off the edge of the tomb and leaned against it, folding his arms. “I heal fast.”

One eyebrow climbed up as the Watcher noted the sleeping bag. “Yours?”

Polite was one thing, but he wasn’t going to hide what was going on between him and the Slayer. “Buffy bought it by. Kind of her wasn’t it?”

Giles removed his glasses and began to polish them. “Spike,” he said calmly. “I will accept that you and Buffy are linked, that you do, indeed, care for her, and that you have changed your ways. I will support whatever decision she makes regarding you. However, if you harm her in any way, by either omission or commission, I will kill you. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.” Spike agreed, with equal calmness. He lit a cigarette. “And here’s something for you to understand, Rupert. I don’t give a good goddamn whether you, or any of the Scoobies, approve of me or not. I came back because of Buffy. She’s why I pulled that vamp’s fangs out of your neck. I won’t hurt her deliberately, and I won’t interfere with the Slaying but I **will** have her if I can persuade her to come to me. And if you interfere with that…well, then,” for an instant, his eyes turned golden, and his forehead ridged. “We’ll see won’t we?”

Giles nodded slightly. “I suppose we shall. This evening then.” And he turned and left.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I am not nervous about seeing Spike, Buffy told herself firmly. I’ve seen him hundreds of times. This is Slaying business, not anything personal. And I will **not** check my hair!

She sat at the research table with the others, feeling somewhat refreshed after her Giles-enforced nap. There had been time to go home, eat supper under her mother’s stern eye, grab a shower, and even spend an agonizing few minutes trying to decide what to wear. Something that said ‘Not that I’m trying to impress you, but don’t I look really hot?’.

She had finally gone with her usual jeans and tank because anything else would have been too obvious, and it wasn’t like Spike hadn’t seen her at her worst, covered in dirt and gore from various creatures. Still, the tank was her white one that scooped a little lower than the others.

Or did it scoop too low? I hope I don’t look like a skank, Buffy worried. Should I ask Willow? Oh, stop it.

When the door to the shop opened, she glanced over casually, as she might have checked anyone who entered, but every cell on her body turned into a quivering Spike-seeking antenna.

“Evening all,” he drawled as he drifted in, black coat sweeping

I will not flirt, I will not preen, I will not giggle, she recited. I will not touch my hair in any way. Buffy made herself meet Spike’s gaze calmly as she nodded in greeting, and the others mumbled something appropriate, but speaking was beyond her at the moment. She was fairly sure that anything she tried to say would come out in a squeak.

Spike didn’t seem to be feeling particularly chatty either. After his initial greeting, he jerked a nod of his own to the others and went to lean against a bookcase as far from Buffy as he could get while still remaining in the main area of the shop.

There was a brief silence. Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy saw Willow and Tara trade ‘aren’t they cute’ smirks and felt an overwhelming desire to knock the two witches’ heads together.

“Well, then” Giles said abruptly, making everyone jump. “I believe the spell components are prepared. Is that correct, Anya?”

She nodded cheerfully. “Everything’s set. They can do it whenever they want.”

A horrified silence descended on the Magic Box as six pairs of eyes locked on the ex-demon. Buffy felt her face flame, and she wouldn’t have looked at Spike if her life depended on it. Willow’s shoulders began to shake, and Tara kicked her lover in the ankle.

“Quite.” Giles forcefully overrode the reaction. “If you ladies,” he glared at the witches, “Would draw the protective circle?”

“Ok,” Tara smiled, lightly squeezing Buffy’s arm as she passed the Slayer to kneel in the center of the shop. Puffs of air still escaped Willow’s nostrils, but she followed the other woman hastily and began to inscribe the other side of the circle.

Buffy finally dared a look at Spike, who was inspecting a shelf of books with great interest. She saw that his hand was loosely wrapped in a bandage and realized he must have done it to spare them both awkward questions. The action, and the thoughtfulness it implied, warmed her.

Spike turned his head, and for one frozen moment, they stared at each other, both wearing the deer-in-the-headlights look. STOP BLUSHING, part of her brain yelled, as Buffy went red again over the memory of last night’s kiss. It’s not fair. Spike doesn’t have to go through this. It's physically impossible for him to turn red.

“I believe we’re ready,” Giles said in a somewhat strangled voice. Slayer and vampire hastily looked away from each other. “If you would take your places in the circle,” the Watcher continued. “The rest of you stand back by the walls.”

She felt highly uncomfortable as she moved to stand next to Spike, but he used the shuffle of everyone’s movement to mutter out of the corner of his mouth, “Want to do it, Slayer? We’ve got permission. And even a protective circle.”

The smart-ass comment startled a snort of laughter out of Buffy, releasing some of the pent-up tension. “You’ll need one,” she whispered and was pleased at the surprise that skittered across his features. I can do sexual innuendo-type banter too, she thought smugly.

Under Giles’ direction, Buffy and Spike took the positions Tara and Willow had used when they cast the spell, one on either side of a map of Sunnydale and the surrounding area.

Giles passed Buffy the crystal suspended from the end of the silver chain. “Join left hands, holding the chain between you,” he instructed.

There is nothing sexy about this, Buffy sternly reminded herself. This is business. If it were anybody else, you wouldn’t think anything about it. But it wasn’t anybody else, and she couldn’t stop an inward quiver when Spike’s hand interlaced with hers.

His grip was cool and firm, and her heart started to gallop. Spike knew it too. She saw his eyes drop to the pulse in her throat, then lift to her own. Too subtly for any of the others to see it, his fingers tightened on hers.

“Close your eyes,” Giles’ voice seemed to come from about a hundred miles away, but Buffy obeyed him gladly. If she had to meet the vampire’s sapphire gaze any longer while he held her hand, this was going to move from dowsing spell to sex magic really, really fast.

She focused with relief on her Watcher’s voice.

 _“Sisters of night_  
Daughters of Hecate   
We petition and ask you   
To reveal where evil laired.

 __  
“Show us the lair of the mage, Ethan Rayne.  
Follower of two-headed Janus.   
Creator of chaos,   
Killer of the innocent,  
Slain by the Rupert Giles.” 

Buffy could feel the chill rising in the Magic Box again, but she didn’t pay much attention, because something odd was happening behind her closed eyelids. As Giles continued to recite the spell, she suddenly seemed to be suspended in the air miles over a town that she knew was Sunnydale. She had no fear of falling: she could feel a grip on her hand and sensed that someone was holding her.

As she watched, a building to the west of town began to glow with a golden light. That must be where Ethan was, she thought. Good, we’ve got the area. We can start to narrow….

The glowing building was suddenly engulfed by what looked like a dark storm cloud or black, boiling smoke. Ok, that's probably bad. A beam of darkness shot out of the building, arrowing straight for her. Very bad. She tried to retreat or dodge but continued to hang suspended over the town, unable to move.

Panic shot through her,as she remembered what happened to Willow and Tara. No you don’t, she thought angrily. You aren’t going to burn me, you evil-light-saber-type thing. In fact, you aren’t going to hurt anybody else ever again.

Slayer power flowed into her then lanced out, white-hot and determined. It crashed into the dark beam, and the two met in a flashing rainbow of fury.

Buffy drove her anger forward with all of her strength, but the other was strong too. Neither could gain ground, and she was beginning to tire. Frantically, she clutched at the hand that held her, and felt the grip tighten in answer.

New strength poured into her, and it was as if she suddenly had a wall at her back to brace against. Buoyed by the support, she redoubled her efforts, and slowly the dark light was turned back.

Abruptly, it broke entirely and collapsed back on itself. Buffy found herself falling helplessly down through the air toward Sunnydale, the supporting hand gone. She drew breath to yell….

And was back in the Magic Box, with everyone, including Spike, shouting, “Are you all right?"

The crystal was intact, and neither of them seemed to be hurt, except for Spike’s almost bruising grip on her hand.

“I’m ok,” Buffy said, wriggling her hand free of Spike’s. “What happened?”

“You started glowing,” Xander said shakily, “and there was like, black fire all around you.”

“I’m fine,” Buffy reassured them again. She looked at Spike, for the moment too shaken by what had happened to remember to be embarrassed. “How about you? Are you all right?”

“Oh, I’m peachy keen, Slayer. I enjoy being engulfed in flames.”

“It isn’t like you got burned,” scoffed Anya. “Men are such babies.”

“Hey,” Xander and Spike protested, then looked at each other suspiciously.

“In any case,” Giles interrupted. “I believe the spell worked.” He nodded to the map which now contained a very small, neatly burned hole.


	13. Chapter 13

Giles was not happy. The sight of Buffy sitting in the magic circle willingly holding Spike’s hand had outraged every fiber in the Watcher’s being. It was just wrong, that was all, prophecies to the notwithstanding. Slayers and vampires simply should not be together unless one was driving a stake into the other. He knew he sounded like Travers, not to mention the Watcher who had been responsible for the death of Susanna Penwick, and he hated it, but he couldn’t help his thoughts.   
He had been on edge ever since the confrontation between himself and Spike earlier that day. The vampire’s arrogant claim to Buffy had infuriated him – especially since he could remember saying something similar twenty-odd years ago to a man who thought a ‘smart-arse who fancied himself a wizard’ was no fit companion for his daughter. Giles felt a certain sympathy for that father, even if the man had broken a whiskey bottle over his head to emphasize his disapproval.

Buffy and Spike’s behavior had done nothing to improve his mood. Not that either had done anything overt. Nothing had occurred that was nearly as nauseating as the events of last year when Willow had inadvertently cast the bethrothing spell. However, on that occasion he had known something was wrong, and the effects had been somewhat blunted due to his blindness.

This was worse. They stayed as far as possible from each other, only stealing sidelong glances that they probably thought were inconspicuous. The one time they had accidentally looked each other in the eye, both had frozen in place, and Buffy had stopped breathing. Giles could practically hear the chime of destiny. It made him want to scream.

But he couldn’t deny what had happened during the dowsing spell. The shadows and chill had appeared in the Magic Box once more, then black light had poured out of the crystal and swept around Buffy like dark flames. It had seemed unable to touch her directly, but she had swayed and gone limp, only Spike’s grip on her hand holding her upright. That grip had never faltered. Indeed, the vampire had reached for her with his other hand, ignoring his own safety, before Giles had warned him back, afraid of what would happen if he disturbed the balance of the spell.

White light had poured from the Slayer, pushing back the darkness. For a moment, the two forces had battled equally, then Spike’s hand tightened, and Giles could almost see the energy flowing from him to Buffy. The Slayer’s glow suddenly flashed with rainbow energy, and the black flames had quenched.

Now, the only sign that something had happened in the Magic Box was a neat hole in the map of Sunnydale.

“I guess the spell worked,” Willow said, “So now what?”

They were all crowded around the research table, looking at the map. Spike stood behind Buffy, looking over her shoulder. He wasn’t threatening her or even touching her in any way, and Buffy didn’t seem to be bothered by him standing there. Still, Giles had to quell the urge to make the vampire move. Xander was bristling as well, hands flexing as if they wanted to curl into fists.

Spike noticed and although his expression remained bland, his eyes hardened slightly, and he moved deliberately closer to Buffy.

He had promised to support whatever she wanted to do, Giles reminded himself grimly, but he would certainly prefer it if what she wanted to do involved a stake.

“When all of you get done with the posturing,” Buffy said loudly, “I believe Willow asked a good question involving what we do next.”

She stepped sideways, so that Spike was beside rather than behind her, but her scowl was divided equally between the three men. “So, is that where you were?” she asked Spike coolly, pointing at the burned section of the map.

He shrugged. “Don’t know, Pet. I only saw the one room. After the mage told me the chip was out, he did some hand waving and I blipped back to the graveyard. I didn’t have a chance to note the address. It was very posh, though. All black marble and candles.”

“That’s a pretty rich area,” Willow said, “Home to the Sunnydale elite.”

“Quite,” Giles said hastily, attempting to regroup. “It’s exactly the sort of thing Ethan aspired to. Since the spell did not provide the precise location, we’ll have to drive about the area and attempt to discover which house was used. If he was using it as his headquarters, there should be a high residue of magical energy.” He checked his watch. “It’s just going on midnight. We should have time…”

Xander was shaking his head. “No good. I just finished a construction project up there. It’s gated and those people are big into the neighborhood watch. You’ll have a close encounter with Sunnydale’s finest before you get the first spell off.”

“We can do it tomorrow,” Buffy said. “Xander can check to make sure the people are happy with his work or something, and I can be along to ooh and ahh at all the houses I can’t afford.”

“That’s always fun to do,” Anya said reminiscently. “Sometimes if people aren’t paying attention, you can even get inside. And they can have the oddest things in their bedrooms. I would certainly have never thought that Judge Deakins….”

“Yeah,” Xander cut desperately over Anya. “That might work. We can take Giles. People find British accents soothing.” His eyes slid to Spike. “A lot of the time.”

“Wait a just a bloody minute!” Spike said angrily. “What’s all this about finding the house during the day? I don’t plan to go back to being something you dust off whenever you feel a vampire might be handy. I’m either on the team, or I’m not.”

The words “I vote for not,” were almost visible on Xander’s and Giles’ mouths, but they didn’t make it into the auditory range.

“We’re on a tight schedule,” Buffy said patiently. “We can find the house in daylight, and pick you up later for the breaking-in part.” She looked up at the angry vampire, and her voice gentled. “You’re on the team, Spike.”

He settled back down, shaking some of the tension away. “Well,” he said softly. “That’s all right then.”

There was one of those meaningful pauses that Giles hated when everything in the immediate universe seemed to coalesce around Buffy and Spike.

“Fine,” he said briskly. “Xander, Buffy, and I will meet here about noon then?”

“Sure,” Xander said, pushing off the table. “Anya and I are going to hit the road. Can I give anyone a ride home?”

“We’ll take one,” Willow said.

“Buffy?” He asked with elaborate casualness, not looking at Spike. Giles tensed. He definitely wanted Buffy locked up in her house, safe, alone, as soon as possible.

She shrugged, still looking down the map and not paying much attention to the conversation around her. “I’m in the other direction.”

“That’s ok. Really.”

The meaning behind the offer sank in, and Buffy raised her head to look at Xander. “I’ll be fine,” she said flatly. “I want to patrol anyway.”

Giles knew it was wrong and hated himself for saying it, but he couldn’t seem to stop. “That’s probably not necessary, Buffy. You’ve been patrolling rather heavily….” He trailed off as her gaze moved to him, and her expression tightened. Out of Buffy’s vision range, he saw Spike smile.

“I believe we’re heading in the same direction,” the vampire said. “I’ll walk with you, Slayer, if you don’t object."

She struggled with herself for an instant, then said, “Ok.”

Without looking at anyone, Buffy slung the strap her purse/weapons satchel over her shoulder, and checked the stakes at her belt. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder and headed out the door with Spike at her heels to a chorus of slightly subdued good-nights.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aagh, she thought as she stalked down the street. This is going to be hairy. Everyone was trying hard to be normal, but there was definitely tension in the air.

And a lot of it was coming from her. Everybody's watching me, she thought, and not because of anything to do with being the Slayer. I feel like the female in one of those wildlife documentaries, the one that makes all the males fight and get their horns knocked off.

Spike, on the other hand, seemed totally relaxed and pretty darn cheerful as he sauntered along beside her. Well, why not, she thought crossly. According to the rules of the Wildlife Special Universe, he won. I'm here with him, which makes him alpha male or whatever. The one who gets to mate…Ok. Stop. Let’s not go anywhere near there.

“You surprise me, Slayer,” Spike said at last, “Saying I’m on the team and all, letting me walk with you. I thought you’d want to hide things a bit more.”

Buffy shrugged. “What’s there to hide? I had to tell them about the prophecy. It wouldn’t be fair not to. And I’d say that saving Giles, frying your hand, and doing the dowsing spell with me pretty much makes you part of the team.” She sighed. “Besides, I’ve had to hide, one way or another, for five years now. I’m tired.”

“Too bad,” Spike lit a cigarette. “I was rather looking forward to hiding. We could exchange longing looks behind everyone’s backs, and I could climb in your bedroom window at night. You could slip your Mum and the Niblet a Mickey, or we could just try to be quiet.”

Like it was with Angel. Buffy crushed that thought as hard as she possibly could. Her first love was definitely not someone she needed to think about right now.

Aloud, she said, “Take things for granted much? Being part of the team doesn’t have to mean any more than that, you know. And the uninvited spell’s still on my house.”

Spike gave her a sharp look, but his voice remained light. “You’ll take it down,” he said confidently.

Scowling, she stomped ahead. He was probably right, but it would be less irritating if a little uncertainty was involved. Her falling into his arms wasn’t a done deal. Was it?

They walked in silence until they reached the cemetery. Instead of circling around to the gate, Spike leaped lightly to the top of the wall and disappeared. Buffy watched a moment, at least part of her considering going home, but she sighed and sprang after him. Self-satisfied vampires or not, she did need to patrol.

She swung down to hang by her hands, but before she could drop into the cemetery, Spike’s hands were on her waist, lowering her to the ground. Buffy stiffened at the unexpected touch, but before she could react, or even decide how to react, he moved around to face her, his expression serious.

“If you’ve made up your mind not to hide from the Scoobies or your Watcher, then don’t hide from yourself either. Or from me.” He touched her cheek with his healed hand. “Remember last night? Not to mention that you’ve been blushing like a Jane Austin heroine all evening.”

Buffy had no idea who that was – apparently, someone who blushed a lot - and she must be a lot like them because she could feel her face turning hot again at Spike’s nearness and touch.

“No fair,” she said breathlessly. “You vampire types don’t have to deal with turning red. How are the rest of us supposed to know what’s going on?”

He smiled. “Pet, if you want to know the extent of my interest, you’ve only to look a bit further down. Besides, I’m not afraid to tell you what you want to know.”

Spike moved even closer to her, pushing her gently until her back was against the wall of the cemetery. Staring into her eyes, he said hoarsely, “I’ve loved you for months, Buffy Summers. I’d have come back for you, vision or no.”

 

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He felt her breath draw in sharply at his words and saw her swallow, both good reactions, especially when paired with her racing heart and melting eyes. Spike was leaning down, intent on her mouth, when Buffy stiffened and yanked a stake from her belt.

Bloody hell, he hadn’t anticipated that response in even his most pessimistic scenarios. Spike started to get annoyed. Maidenly modesty was all very well, but there were limits….

“Move!” she shouted and shoved him hard to the side.

He finally understood and rolled clear as Buffy slammed the stake into a large, scaly something that had come up behind him. Spike came to his feet and saw that it had two friends.

“Sorry,” one of them said apologetically as he advanced furiously in vamp face. “We didn’t know you were on a kill. We thought you were just some freak who liked to make out in graveyards.”

“I am a freak who likes to make out in graveyards,” he growled. “And you’re seriously interfering with my fun.” He heard the Slayer snort with laughter as she tackled the third demon.

With the two of them working together, the demons were dispatched in moments. Spike shook off the vampire features and turned back to Buffy.

“Where were we?” he asked, reaching for her again.

Buffy avoided his grasp with a smirk. “Patrolling,” she said sweetly and headed deeper into the cemetery.

Damn. The fight had restored her equilibrium, and she had all the girlish, shy bits back under control. Spike sighed and resigned himself to patrolling.

It was a thorough patrol, too. Buffy methodically quartered the area, checking for newly-disturbed earth, hanging crypt doors, and other signs of occult activity. After the initial frustration of having his amorous intentions thwarted, Spike enjoyed watching her as she went about her business, face intent, movements lithe and focused.

Mine, he sang inside. All mine. Although if she knew what he was thinking, she would probably have something to say about that. It didn’t matter. She was still his, and one day she would know it. Just like one day, she would know that he was hers as well.

The patrol turned up two more vampires that were swiftly staked. While Buffy was fighting the second one, it shouted to Spike, “Bastard! Working with the Slayer against your own kind!” just before falling to dust.

She frowned at him questioningly, but he shook his head. “I’ve no loyalty to vamps as a whole, not like you’ve got to humans. If I were traveling with a group, I might watch out for them, but Dru was the only one I really cared for.”

Buffy looked away, her face troubled, and he knew why. Prophecy aside, there were definitely problems ahead. If it came to a fight between Buffy and Drusilla, he would help Buffy, but he had loved his mad princess for more than 100 years, and her final death would hurt him like hell. And if it came down to himself and Angel, Spike had to admit he didn’t know which way the Slayer would jump.

“I won’t go after Drusilla unless I have to,” Buffy said. Spike started, not realizing she’d followed his train of thought. “As for you and Angel,” she sighed, “It would depend on why you were fighting. Although,” she added dryly, “I’d probably just kick both your asses.”

“Probably,” he agreed. “Why don’t we not worry about that unless it happens?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Buffy managed to smile.

“Speaking of plans,” Spike said slowly as he reached out to thread a finger through the belt loop of her jeans, “We seem to be at my crypt.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow but moved forward in response to his tug, halting a few inches away. “So we are. Did you have a plan that involved your crypt?”

“Mm-hm,” he tugged again, and she moved even closer, her breath beginning to come fast. “I thought we could continue our earlier discussion inside where we wouldn’t be interrupted by you having to run off and Slay something.”

He watched her weigh the decision. Finally, she drew a deep breath and turned away.

Well, what was I expecting, that she was going to just go along with it? There’s undoubtedly a lot more angst and discussion of the whole issue ahead before…oh…she’s heading toward the crypt.

Slightly dazed from the realization that she had, in fact, agreed to his suggestion, Spike hastened after her, catching up just in time to reach over her head and push the door open.

He followed her into the crypt, kicking the door shut behind him. Before she could take another step, he desperately reached out and pulled Buffy to him, her back to his chest. She leaned against his shoulder with a sigh that sounded like relief as Spike rested his face against her hair, trembling. He felt as if he’d managed to close out the world. No Watchers, or friends, or bad guys. Just the two of them, as he’d dreamed of, but never really believed would happen.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Buffy felt him shudder and suddenly understood. He had been afraid too, despite his arrogance and cockiness, afraid that she would reject him. The knowledge touched her deeply, and she shifted against his shoulder, tilting her face more to his and sliding an arm up and around behind his neck.

“I think we left off somewhere around here,” she said, guiding his mouth to hers.

His arms tightened around her shoulders and waist, and the kiss deepened as their tongues entwined.

After long moments, her neck started to protest loudly about the angle, so she swiveled around to face him, freeing her lips long enough to explain, “Neck’s breaking.”

“Wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable,” Spike muttered. He leaned down, scooped an arm under her backside and lifted her off the ground. Buffy wrapped her legs around his hips and he carried her across the crypt to lay her on the sleeping bag-covered tomb. Holding on with arms and legs, she pulled him down as well.

“Better?” he asked, covering her body with his.

“Much,” she managed.

Buffy’s eyes squeezed shut and her head arched back helplessly as Spike’s lips moved over her throat and down to explore at the neckline of her shirt.

“I do like this top,” he said, nuzzling at her cleavage. “Just low enough to hint what’s underneath.” His tongue flicked out, traced a line between her breasts, and Buffy’s hands fastened in his hair. He stayed there, teasing and nibbling the exposed skin, occasionally turning his head to drop a light kiss on her nipples, hard and erect even through the fabric of her shirt, until she snarled and dragged his mouth back up to hers.

She shoved his coat down off his shoulders, and Spike shrugged out of it the rest of the way, straddling her hips as he pulled his shirt off. Buffy sat up under him and explored the hard muscles of his chest with her hands and mouth, listening to his soft growls of pleasure.

She watched his face as she pulled off her own shirt and bra. Spike’s gaze swept over her torso, then he closed his eyes briefly as if gathering control before he pushed her gently back down. He swung off the tomb and stood, resting one hand questioningly on the waistband of her jeans.

Buffy raised her hips in response, and he swallowed and began to undo the fastenings. He drew the jeans and underwear down her legs and off, pulling her shoes and socks along as well, then moved back to stand by her, one hand gently tracing a line from the base of her throat to her pelvis.

She was highly self-conscious but also extremely aroused as his eyes devoured her. “Your turn,” she said hoarsely, and he smiled a little and kicked off his boots.

She perched on the edge of the tomb, and drew Spike to stand between her legs while she undid his fastenings and pushed the jeans off his hips.

“Into living dangerously?” she remarked at the lack of underwear.

“Believe it, Baby.” He flashed a grin at her which skittered off his face as her hand closed around him.

She stroked his cool flesh slowly, deliberately, while his hands moved through her hair over her back. Buffy could tell he was being careful, trying not to be too rough with her. She appreciated the thoughtfulness, but her own arousal was climbing, and the gentle caresses weren’t enough.

“I’m not all that fragile, Spike,” she hissed, and leaned up to close her teeth on his neck, her hand tightening around his length.

The next second, she was flat on her back on the tomb with him looming over her, pinning her wrists beside her head, eyes bright gold in the darkness. Instinct tried to take over, and Buffy’s body tensed for battle, lips drawing back from her teeth, but something deeper even than the Slayer knew that he wouldn’t hurt her and instead of struggling against his hold, her legs went around his hips and pulled.

Spike entered her in one hard thrust, and she came up to meet him. They moved together at an ever increasing pace, the only sound Buffy’s gasps and the sound of flesh meeting flesh.

She pulled her arms free of his hold and slid them around his back, pulling him down the rest of the way, so that they touched everywhere.

Spike’s lips were brushing continuously over her face, and she felt as if she were drowning. He was everywhere, over her, surrounding her, inside her.

“I love you,” she gasped, and time stopped.

Spike froze, buried deep inside her body. To her disbelief, his eyes filled with tears. “Oh, God,” he whispered. “Oh, God, Buffy.”

He kissed her mouth with an infinite tenderness, sending her over the edge into orgasm. She shuddered with the release, realizing that she was crying too as the tension of the past weeks drained away. Spike moved in her slowly a few more times, then stiffened, and she felt him let go inside her.

They held each other for a long time until Buffy reached up to brush the tears from his sharp cheekbones.

Spike sighed, but his voice was almost normal, as he said, “We’re a right pair of blubbering prats, aren’t we?”

“Is that good?”

  
End Part 13


	14. Chapter 14

She’s a kid, Lindsey thought as he drove along the freeway, Mr. Jones ensconced on the back seat of the black Mercedes.

Just a kid. 

He had spent the previous evening going over the material Wolfram and Hart had gathered on Buffy Summers. It included pictures of her family and friends, descriptions of her more notable kills, involvement with the Initiative, and most interestingly, her history with Angel.

That must have been bad, he mused. Your first lover turns evil when you finally have sex and spends six months or so trying his best to kill you. He finally gets better, and you have to send him to hell to save the world. Welcome to the school of hard knocks.

However, what remained with him the most clearly were the pictures of Buffy herself. Subconsciously, Lindsey had expected someone hard and angry like Faith, who was almost a monster in her own right, so the two pictures that included the Slayer had surprised him.

One of the shots showed her laughing with several other girls, her hair caught into ponytails, and looking about 14. In the other, she was looking gravely down at a pile of dust that had formerly been a vampire. Both pictures gave an impression of underlying innocence, despite all she had seen and done, and something that suggested a sort of constant sadness. There was a wariness at the back of the dark eyes, even in the happy picture, an expectation of being hurt. An expectation that would be filled today if Wolfram and Hart’s plans succeeded.

They weren’t going to physically hurt her, Lindsey reminded himself. Instructions had been clear. The Slayer was off limits. They were just going to kill the vampire.

There was a picture of him too, standing with his former girlfriend, Drusilla, hands in coat pockets, and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Lindsey hadn’t been particularly impressed: Spike seemed the typical posturing vampire who thought he was above humanity. Still, it wouldn’t be smart to totally discount him. His long survival indicated intelligence, and his alliance with the Slayer to defeat Angelus spoke of an ability to see beyond the moment. Finally, there was apparently something in Spike that could overcome the ingrained Slayer distrust of vampires.

Lindsey’s mouth tightened. It wouldn’t bother him to kill Spike, even if he was some kind of vampiric paragon. And if Buffy was hurt by his final death, well, join the club little girl. We all get hurt sometimes.

He passed the sign that indicated Sunnydale was 10 miles in the distance, and called over his shoulder to Mr. Jones. “Almost there, Sir.”

“Thank you, Lindsey. Keep the car steady, please. I’m going to locate our friend.”

Lindsey glanced into the rearview mirror to see Jones spreading a city map onto the back seat. A moment later, he heard the low chant of a location spell.

There was a pause, then the chant came again, slightly louder this time. Another pause and chant, substituting the Slayer’s name for the vampire’s.

“Well,” Jones said tightly as they crossed into the city limits. “It seems the alliance between the Slayer her Adversary has strengthened.”

“Sir?” Lindsey asked.

“The location spell isn’t working.”

Freezing air suddenly turned the interior of the car to ice. Lindsey hissed, startled, and saw his breath plume the air as he exhaled. He looked into the rearview mirror once more. Jones was shoved into the back of the car seat, totally black eyes staring sightlessly before him. He thought of pulling the car to the side of the road and decided he didn’t quite dare.

“The vampire is in the cemetery,” an unfamiliar voice rasped from Jones’ throat. “End him. If the Slayer interferes, kill her as well, for the Souled One has returned to the light.”

The presence was gone as swiftly as it had come, the air returning to its normal temperature. Despite the chill, Lindsey’s shirt was soaked with sweat.

“Are you all right, Sir?” he called back to Jones.

The Senior Partner nodded, despite the blood that poured from his nose. “I’ll be fine. Get to the cemetery.”

“Yes, Sir.”

 

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I could get used to this, Spike thought with a smile, as he lit his bedtime cigarette. Sleeping with the Slayer in his arms was definitely an experience he was looking forward to repeating.

Buffy hadn’t stayed the night, had, in fact, left an hour or so before dawn, but he had expected that. She would want to check on her Mum and Sis, and she was still interested in avoiding well-meaning questions. It was all right. Her comfort level would grow, and truth be told, he didn’t mind having a bit of time to process this new facet of his life.

She had remained several hours after their lovemaking, dozing with her head on his shoulder, her golden-brown hair scattered across his chest. He had spent most of the time watching her, unable to believe she was really there without the intervention of spell, chains, or blunt force trauma to the head.

Buffy had awakened to find him watching her and frowned. “Didn’t you sleep?”

“Some. I’ll sleep more in the day,” he had answered. “Apparently I’m going to need all the rest I can get.”

His delight in her blush had resulted in her staying around for another half-hour or so before she had finally grabbed her clothes and left him with a kiss that had made him consider chasing her down and dragging her back to the crypt. Something to look forward to tonight. When she would be back.

Spike realized he was grinning like an idiot and composed his expression, drawing strongly on his cigarette. If I’m not careful, I’ll start writing bad poetry again. Mustn’t be a sap even if I am in love.

Ah, but he was happy, happier than he could remember being in a long time. He stubbed out the cigarette and lay back. Chip free and with the woman he loved. What could possibly…

“They’re comin’.”

His eyes flew open and he shot upright. Mattie was standing at the foot of the tomb, or at least sort of standing there. Her image faded in and out as if she were being prevented from forming.

“Who?” Spike said sharply, swinging down from the tomb and heading for his weapons chest.

He saw her try to speak but then she fragmented totally and vanished.

“Mattie?” he called, but there was no answer. A stab of fear went through him for the young Slayer’s spirit, but he didn’t know of a way to help her at the moment, and he was apparently about to experience his own problems.

His weapon of choice was already in place, face ridged and fangs extended as he lifted the lid of the weapons chest. After a moment’s consideration, he pulled out and loaded the shotgun, grabbing his quarterstaff in case something was coming for him that required wood to kill.

Let them come for him. He was ready. And may some god help them if they’d gone near Buffy.

 

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Buffy drew a deep breath as saw Giles, Xander, and Anya congregated before the door of the Magic Box. ‘I had sex with Spike’ is not written on my forehead, she reminded herself. Nobody will know unless I say anything. And it’s none of their business.

It had been an odd sensation waking in the vampire’s arms, not something she would have ever imagined happening. She found herself smiling: odd, but good, and the early morning aerobics had certainly helped wake her up.

“Hi, guys,” she said cheerfully as she reached the others.

The three greeted her with a mixture of ‘Hey’, ‘Hi’, and ‘Buffy’, as they piled into Giles’ car, Xander driving with Anya next to him on the front seat.

“I called Mrs. Tompkins,” Xander said as he pulled away from the curb. “She’s the one I just finished the work for. I said I wanted to make sure she was happy with what we did for her house, and she gave my name to the gate guard.”

“Very good,” Giles approved. “I’m glad you were able to obtain admittance so easily. It will make our job much simpler.”

“Oh, I knew he wouldn’t have any trouble,” Anya said cheerfully. “All of the women in that development are sexually attracted to Xander.”

“Anya! They are not!” Xander protested, turning bright red. “They’re just…friendly that’s all. Gracious. It’s part of being rich.”

“Oh, please. As if they’d bring lemonade to someone who was old and ugly. You don’t have to worry,” the ex-demon continued. “I’m not jealous. Knowing all of those women want you makes you more sexually attractive to me too.”

Buffy stared down at her hands and Giles gazed fixedly out of the window. “Speaking of sex,” Anya continued relentlessly, “Buffy…”

“ANYA!”

At Xander and Giles’ outcry, she broke off with a hurt expression. “You don’t have to shout,” she said, offended. “I was just going to tell Buffy she didn’t have to worry about me asking about her and Spike. You said it would make her uncomfortable.”

“Thank you, Anya,” Buffy said in a strangled voice. “I appreciate that.”

“Of course, if you want to talk about it, I would certainly be interested…Xander, how can you drive while you’re hitting your head on the steering wheel like that?”

“So,” Buffy broke the long silence in a determinedly bright voice. “Giles. How are you planning to look for Ethan’s hideout once we get up there?”

“Yes,” the Watcher said in tones of relief. “First I thought to….”

 

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Lindsey parked the car at directly outside the cemetery and, mindful of protocol even in the immediate situation, hastened to open the back door for Mr. Jones.

The Senior Partner was pale but composed, the nose-bleed having finally stopped.

“I don’t anticipate any difficulty,” he said emerging from the car. “It’s day, so the vampire should be sleeping.”

He opened his briefcase, withdrew a stake, and handed a second stake to Lindsey. “Magic doesn’t seem to be working,” he said with a humorless smile. “So we’ll do this the old-fashioned way. However,” he added as he removed a taser gun and collapsible net, “We can add a few modern conveniences.”

They moved through the cemetery, and Lindsey eyed the collection of crypts. “Do you know where Spike is?” he asked.

“There,” Jones nodded toward one straight ahead. His voice was slurred and dead-sounding and Lindsey felt the familiar chill that indicated the Board Member’s presence. He wandered privately how much longer Jones could take having his body borrowed by the demon. His expression remained bland, however, none of his thoughts showing.

Jones halted at the crypt entrance. “Dispatch him,” he said briefly to Lindsey, handing the younger man the taser gun.

“Yes, Sir.”

Lindsey smiled slightly as he turned away from Jones. He had anticipated being sent in after the vampire, and didn’t object. He was younger, lower in status, expendable: it was the Wolfram and Hart way. If he did this well, it would advance his career in the firm, moving him closer to his goal of one day being a Senior Partner who sent underlings off to do the dirty work.

It was really too bad that Lilah hadn’t gotten herself invited along on this trip, he thought. He would have sincerely enjoyed watching his colleague’s reaction to being sent to Slay a vampire.

He carefully opened the door of the crypt, wincing a little at the scrape of stone on stone. He left the door open as he entered, the spill of daylight serving to illuminate the crypt’s interior, which was quiet and mostly empty: a broken bench in one corner, an electric lantern sitting on the floor, and a large tomb, the lid slightly ajar.

Lindsey’s neck started to prickle as he crossed the floor of the crypt. Working for Wolfram and Hart, not to mention exposure to Angel, Darla, and Drusilla, had increased his levels of awareness, and something felt extremely wrong. He was already diving for cover behind the tomb as he heard the snick of the shotgun.

 

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“We’re here,” Xander said unnecessarily as they pulled up to the gate of Sunshine Estates. He leaned out the window to speak to the guard.

I hope we find what we need here, Buffy thought. I want to wind this up and get back to normal. College, training, dating Spike. Well, ok, some things will be slightly less normal than others.

The feeling swept over her from nowhere and everywhere. Danger. Attack. Evil. She twisted frantically, trying to see out of all the windows at once, but there was nothing to see but large houses and blue sky.

She heard the gate guard ask, “Is she ok?”

“Buffy?” Giles asked worriedly. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s something,” she gasped. “Something bad. Spike. It’s after Spike. Xander, turn the car around! I’ve got to get to the cemetery!”

“Are you sure?” Xander asked. “Maybe something’s trying to keep you from finding the house.”

“No. I know I’m right. This is down where the Slayer stuff is. Nothing can fake that out.”

“Sorry,” he called to the guard, and sighed as he began to turn the car. “Family emergency.”

Buffy saw his face in the rearview mirror, set and tight as they drove. Looking to the side, she saw a similar expression on her Watcher.

“I know you hate Spike,” she said carefully. “And God knows, I understand that. I’m not asking you not to hate him. But this isn’t about Spike, or even about me. Whoever’s attacking him are the ones behind Ethan. They’re the ones who killed all those people, who butchered that little girl, and who tried to kill Giles and Tara. I have to stop them.”

Xander shut his eyes briefly. “Gotcha,” he said and floored the gas pedal.

Giles reached over and gently took her hand. “We’ll stop them.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hidden in the rafters, Spike watched with growing fury as the man investigated his crypt. He was younger than the vampire would have expected, but probably the chap waiting on the porch was the one in charge while this one was to serve as cannon fodder. No matter. He would deal with both.

They were the ones who had set him up, loaded him like a gun and fired him straight at Buffy. They were responsible for the latest Sunnydale killings, pain and injury to the Slayer, and almost responsible for his own final death.

He yearned to tear them apart with teeth and hands, but despite Angelus’ opinion, Spike was capable of learning from the past. His experiences with the Initiative had increased his wariness, and he had no intention of ending back up in a cell somewhere with the white coats poking at him. So, he reined in the demon and brought the shotgun silently to his shoulder.

Unfortunately, not silently enough. The man dived over the tomb even as he fired, and the shot passed harmlessly through the space where he had been.

Well, that was fine. Wariness aside, he’d still rather do it the other way. Spike leaped from the rafters and landed lightly on the artfully shifted lid of the tomb, balancing easily as he grinned down at the man.

“Sorry, mate,” Spike grinned. “Afraid you’re going to get that nice suit all stained.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Probably, Lindsey silently agreed. But maybe I can do some damage to that black t-shirt along the way. He rolled to his knees, bringing the stake up even as the vampire dropped from the tomb.

Spike twisted to the side, avoiding the stake and landed on his feet, circling him. Lindsey dropped the stake - there was no way he was going to get close enough to the vampire to use it - and grabbed the taser, cursing the fact that he had only one functional hand.

“Looks like something already had a taste of you,” Spike taunted as they maneuvered. “I’m amazed you survived. Or was your pal out there a bit more help than he’s being at the moment?”

Lindsey’s mouth twisted. “I’m good enough to make you nervous, it seems, or is there some other reason you’re not closing? Come on, Spike, you scared of a little ol’ taser gun? Or can’t you manage without the Slayer to hide behind?”

Ok, that may have been a mistake, he thought, as the vampire snarled and sprang. The general thought was that Spike would forget to be careful in his anger and get close enough to get shocked. He was angry all right, but Lindsey hadn’t quite anticipated the level of speed. Spike was on him and the taser twisted out of his hand before he could blink, and Lindsey was bent back over the tomb.

Spike ripped Lindsey’s collar open and pulled, exposing his neck to the vampire’s fangs. “Let’s leave the Slayer out of this, shall we?” he asked.

I’m dead, Lindsey thought distantly. He couldn’t really seem to care except for a mild annoyance at Lilah’s undoubtedly ecstatic reaction to the news. Maybe he could figure some way to haunt her.

Spike drew back to strike and was suddenly engulfed in a net. Lindsey rolled clear as the vampire cursed and fought to no avail. Although fragile seeming, the net held as if made of spun steel.

“Spell of unbreaking,” Jones said mildly. “You did very well, Lindsey. Now, help me drag him into the sun.”

“Happy to, Sir,” Lindsey said coolly, and began to haul at the net.

 

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Bloody hell, Spike thought as he thrashed furiously in the confines of the net. Even his fangs were no use against the mesh.

Despite his inability to free himself, he managed to delay the two men for several minutes, yanking them repeatedly off their feet. But with every move, he entangled himself still more, and in a few moments, he was held fast.

Inexorably, the one called Lindsey (what kind of pouf name was that?) and the other dragged him toward the door of the crypt. He tried to recoil as the men stepped into the shaft of sunlight at the door.

Buffy, I’m sorry. I wanted so much to stay with you. At least I got the one night with her, and she said she loved me, Spike thought disjointedly. That’s something. And when they finish me, that will break the prophecy, so they should keep away from her.

He squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of the burning as they yanked him onto the crypt porch and threw him down the steps into the full light of the sun.

A few moments later, he cautiously opened them again, puzzled. Nothing seemed to be happening. Had it suddenly gone cloudy? No, the sky was blue, and the sun shone with the usual Sunnydale brightness. The light felt strange on his unaccustomed skin, but nothing was sizzling.

Both the men were staring at him with puzzled looks of their own.

“I know he’s a vampire,” Lindsey said. “I saw the fangs.”

“Yes,” the other answered. “It’s the prophecy. It must be. He’s become immune to the sun.”

“Problem, lads?” Spike grinned. “Things not coming out quite as you planned?”

“That’s all right,” the older man said. “There are no problems, only solutions.” He pulled a stake from his coat. “This should still prove effective.”

“SPIKE!”

There was a screech of brakes and the sound of pounding feet as the Slayer charged across the cemetery.

She wasn’t going to get here in time, though, Spike thought resignedly as the stake began to plunge down. Be careful, Love. Don’t let them take you as well.

Two inches from his chest, the stake burst into flame.

“Shit!” shouted the man, Lindsey…and Spike who decided that two extremely close calls in three days were too much, and whose net was starting to catch fire. He managed to roll over and quench the flames before getting too badly singed.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He’s all right, Buffy noted as she jumped over Spike and tackled the younger man who had pulled out a stake of his own. Thank God for Giles and his misspent youth.

She had started to run even before Xander had stopped the car, but there was no way she could have gotten there in time to prevent Spike from being staked. But then her Watcher had shouted some unknown phrase, and the stake had burst into flame.

It sounded like Giles was finally getting his magic duel because he and the older man were yelling at each other in what sounded like about 10 different languages. However, Buffy couldn’t turn around to see what was happening because she having her own problems.

The young man had gone down under her charge, but he’d gotten one hand between them and pulled a gun from somewhere. Now, cold metal pressed against her rib cage, and she could feel the muzzle of the pistol under her left breast. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to escape. One pull of the trigger would send the bullet straight into her heart.

Then why didn’t he pull it? Curious, Buffy pulled her head back slightly and looked down at him. His expression wasn’t triumphant or angry or gloating. It wasn’t anything except maybe a little sad.

“You love him?” he said softly.

“Yeah,” she answered, having no idea why he asked the question, but sensing it was important.

“You scared to die?”

“Not looking forward to it, but not really.”

He seemed to come to a decision, and to her surprise she felt the gun pull away. “Hit me.”

“What?”

“Hit me. Hard.”

No problem there. Obligingly, Buffy cracked him across the chin and his eyes rolled back.

She didn’t have time to wonder what the hell that was all about and rolled off the man to see what else was going on.

Xander and Anya were untangling an outraged but surprisingly uncrispied Spike from the net. Giles and the older man were squared off and both seemed the worse for wear, bruised and singed.

The man saw her stand and his eyes narrowed. Then his arms shot upward and he began to chant in an ever-increasing pitch until his voice became a screarm. Dark light engulfed him.

Anya yelped and fell back on her heels. “Watch it! Something big’s coming!”

Sweat stood out on Xander's face, but his hands were steady as he finished pulling the net clear of Spike’s arms. The vampire shrugged the rest free and came to his feet, shoving Xander and Anya back towards the car.

“Stand clear!” he ordered.

“Back!” Buffy shouted, starting to run. “Everybody get back!”

She headed for the blackness, realizing when someone caught her hand that one person had not obeyed.

“Together!” Spike gasped. “We face it together, Slayer. That’s sort of the bloody point, right?”

She stared at him blankly for a long moment. But I fight alone. I have to. I have the Watcher and my friends, but when it comes down to it, the Slayer is always alone.

Not always, said something deep inside her. Not if you can see beyond.

Her chin lifted. “Right,” she agreed and twined her hand hard with his.

Together, they turned to face the darkness.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Not enough, Giles thought in horror. They weren’t going to be enough. White light and red poured from the Slayer and her Adversary, twisted together and then drove at the blackness like a glowing spear. And they were holding it off, but it wasn’t enough. Black light continuously returned from the shape that grew and twisted, and it was beginning to press back against Buffy and Spike, creeping around the edges to engulf them. He frantically tried to recall any spell he could think of, but he had worn himself out battling the human mage.

“They’re going to lose,” Xander said tonelessly.

“Isn’t there anything we can do?” Anya whispered.

“Keep yore britches on,” said a new voice. “I’m workin’ on it.”

The small figure of the Spirit-Killer stomped determinedly across the grass, past an open-mouthed Giles. She advanced until she stood to the right and slightly behind Buffy and Spike, propped her hands on her hips, and eyed the black glowing figure with distaste.

“Hey!” she yelled. “I need some help here.”

“Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first time, girl.” A figure winked into being beside her, a tall man with a shock of untidy black hair falling forward over one ridged eyebrow. He caught Mattie’s hand and a new column of light, white and green mingled together, spilled from the pair and struck at the black figure.

“This shall not be!” it howled, recoiling. “This isn’t your realm! You have no power here!”

“You would seem to be in error, hell-fiend.”

Another pair of figures, both women, stood to the left of Buffy and Spike. One was dressed in the white shirt and men’s trunk hose of the time of Henry the Eighth, her black hair tightly braided and wound around her head, and a sword at her hip. The other woman, her elaborate gown and spill of red-gold curls at odds with her vampiric features, placed a ring-encrusted hand on the other’s arm and white and blue light twined and struck and joined the others.

Mattie reached out and took Buffy’s free hand. Susanna lightly gripped Spike’s shoulder. The three columns came together in a blinding rainbow flash, there was one last furious howl, and nothing remained of the black figure, or the man who had summoned it but a charred patch of grass.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Wow,” Xander said. “That was something.”

Buffy had to agree. She felt completely drained, and Spike didn’t look much better.

“Are you ok?” she asked, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah. Think I’ll sit down, though.” His legs folded under him abruptly and he dropped to the ground.

Sitting sounded good, but there were things she had to do first. Giles, Xander and Anya seemed ok, if a little wide-eyed, so she turned to the spirits who stood before her.

“Thanks,” she said. “That’s not nearly enough to say, but…thanks.”

Susanna smiled. “It was good to fight again.”

“Yeah,” Mattie said cheerfully. “I kinda miss the butt-whippin’.”

Jarrod laughed soundlessly, and Katherine, whose human features were outstandingly pretty, rolled her china-blue eyes. “Slayers,” she said in disgust. “Ever happiest in the midst of battle.”

“Peace, Kat,” Susanna tugged at the other woman’s hood. “Thou came along willingly enough.”

“’Twas that or hie me to thy rescue as always," she sniffed. "This was simpler.”

 

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Spike smiled, listening to Buffy chatter excitedly to the other Slayers. He could almost see the bonds between them running back through time. Those three and all the others, including the ones he had killed, joined together always. His smile faded, as he recalled that there would come a time when the bonds would run forward from Buffy to the next Slayer.

“It’s hard.”

He looked to see Jarrod standing beside him, arms folded, eyes on Mattie. The young giant looked down at him then back at the tiny Spirit-Killer.

“I couldn’t keep her safe, not even from me at the last. You did better.”

Spike nodded. “I had help. I saw what happened to the two of you. If I hadn’t, it could have gone very differently. But you’re with her now,” he added curiously. “Aren’t you? How did that come about?”

Jarrod grinned. “Can’t say much about that. I will say that goin’ against Mattie when she’s got mind’s set ain’t somethin’ even the Powers That Be are interested in much.”

“I did notice that,” Spike laughed.

 

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It was so strange, Buffy thought. The other Slayers had never seemed quite real to her before. They had always been stories about strong courageous women who were much better at all this than she was.

“So then,” Susanna was saying, “My horse, which, mark you, had chased down every sort of demon and troll, took fright at a rabbit and sent me head first into a stream.”

“I got a wicked case of poison oak once, waitin’ for some demon or other, had to keep stoppin’ the fight to scratch.” Mattie put in.

Buffy saw Giles cautiously approaching and reached out a hand to him. He smiled at her painfully and put an arm around her shoulders. Then his eyes went to Susanna.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly. “For what your Watcher did to you.”

“My poor Thomas was deceived,” Susanna said gently. “The evil ones whispered poison into his ear, and he thought only to help me. He understood at the last, and they cut him down as he tried to free me.” She held his eyes. “There is no anger between us, but my sister is fortunate indeed that you are wiser.”

Giles flushed and nodded.

“I am not so forgiving,” Katherine put in with a toss of her head.

“It is to be expected,” Susanna pointed out. “For thou art a wicked child of hell.”

“But pretty.”

“Oh, wonderous fair.”

“’Tis sufficient.” Katherine favored them with a dazzling smile and was gone in a snap of her fingers.

“Our time grows short, indeed,” Susanna nodded. “Thou art not alone, Buffy. Never forget that.”

“I know.” She reached out and hugged the Slayer, felt her dissipate under her fingers.

Mattie took her place. “Look after that one,” she said, jerking her head at Spike. “He ain’t all that bright.”

“I heard that,” Spike called.

With a wicked grin, Mattie vanished, in turn. Buffy looked around, but Jarrod was already gone. The strong, silent type, she guessed.

She went to Spike and extended a hand to pull him to his feet. He wrapped his arms around her waist and she leaned against his shoulder, unable to worry about what the others thought. After a moment, she straightened. “Let’s go home.”

Then she paused, frowning. “Wait a minute. What happened to that other guy?”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lindsey started the car, ruthlessly quelling his shaking. There was nothing to shake about, for there was no one to bear witness to his betrayal. Jones was dead and the Member of the Board destroyed. He would have to explain how that had happened, but he had from here to L.A. to come up with a cover story, not to mention a good reason for not coming back to take out the Slayer.

“Will you tell him?”

He jumped violently and turned to see the small shaggy-haired Slayer sitting in the passenger seat.

“Tell who?” he asked although he knew what she meant.

She snorted. “Tell Angel about Buffy and Spike. I know you’re thinkin’ of it.”

“No,” he said and knew it was true. “I won’t tell him. And I’ll tell Wolfram and Hart that if they let him know, Angel will ally with Buffy to keep her from Spike. That will make him stronger.”

“Why won’t you tell him? It’d get you in good with yore bosses.”

“I don’t wish her any harm,” he said at last It was the best he could think of. How to say that looking in her eyes, he had seen something that made him ashamed. Seen something that showed another way to be.

She smiled. “It ain’t too late for you, Lindsey McCord. Not yet. But one day soon, you’ll have to choose for good and all.” And she was gone.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The following evening, Buffy returned to Spike’s crypt, wondering what the hell the problem was. Somewhere in the middle of explanations, napping, and a frantic completion of a math homework assignment, the vampire had wondered off. Well, I told him I loved him. From past experience, that means it’s time for him to leave.

He opened the door as she raised her hand to knock, and she thought he looked slightly frantic. “Good, it’s you.” Spike seized her hand and dragged her into the crypt.

“What’s wrong…” her voice died away as she took in the new contents of the crypt. A television had been added, along with a small dorm refrigerator, blankets, pillows, and a beanbag chair. A large, pink Tupperware container sat on the tomb.

“Those,” Spike said, pointing an accusing finger, “Are cookies.”

“Cookies?”

“Willow brought them. The television’s from Giles. Tara contributed the bedding and refrigerator. The chair, naturally, is from Xander, and Anya agreed not to try and have me killed. The sodding Welcome Wagon has been here. Your mum invited me to dinner.”

He sank down on the beanbag chair and put his head in his hands.

Buffy understood. “Welcome to the side of truth, justice, and the American Way. People feed you. Doesn’t really go with the Big Bad reputation does it?” she added sympathetically.

“Not likely. I mean…cookies?”

“Well, Willow’s cookies are pretty darn sinful.”

She nudged at his shoulder and when he leaned back, settled herself on his lap. "If it's any help, they’ll calm down soon. Probably.”

“Hopefully before I end up with red gingham curtains.”

Spike’s voice was sulky, but his hands had started to gently stroke along her sides, and when she shifted to straddle his lap, she saw he was trying not to smile.

Buffy leaned over him, “If you really want to relive the bad old days,” she murmured in his ear, “I’ve taken the uninvited spell off the house. You could climb in through my window and overpower me.”

“Technically, I never did that. Does sound like a good idea, though,” he slid a hand into her hair and pulled until her mouth came around to his.

“But you’d have to do it quietly,” Buffy said after a few breathless minutes. “Or Dawn will want you to help with her homework.”

“Why don't I just overpower you here?”

It was quiet again except for the furious rustling of fabric. Finally Buffy freed her mouth long enough to say. “We’re going to take out the seams on this chair.”

“We’d bloody well better.”

  
The End


End file.
